Just one seed of this angelica germinated out of a packet sown February 2024, and to be honest, one angelica is all I have room for, but a couple of backups for insurance would have taken off the pressure of losing it. I’ve read angelica seed needs to be sown as fresh as possible, so I should have sown it when purchased June 2023. After this bloom goes to seed, I’ll get a bunch more plants started by fall, hopefully, from its very fresh seed.
It’s a big biennial, easily 3′ across. What a looker! Snails weren’t interested, so it’s been a flawless study of finely cut compound leaves in moody purple. And enthralling to watch the flower sheath swell taut, growing as big as a fist the past several days until the crown of the lacy umbel broke through this morning. The ultimate height has been estimated to be as much as 6 feet. The flower will be lighter in color than the leaves. For a dark purple flower, Angelica gigas is what you want.
spreading its wings in late spring
Biennials are a little tricky as far as timing, and unless they reseed for you, they can be one-off novelties. So remembering to sow biennials for next year now, in early summer, is the tricky part. Hesperis, lunaria, and Digitalis ferruginea are already established reseeders. I’m about to send off a seed order for a few more biennials including Verbascum phlomoides ‘Spica’ and some selections of Dianthus barbatus like ‘Sooty.’
engulfed by July but holding its own
I love the seed selection at Chilterns Seeds in the UK, which works if you obtain a Permit to Import Plants and Plant Products from the Dept. of Agriculture. My permit was issued in 2022 and is good until October 2025. Like everything else now, there’s uncertainty whether this permit will be honored and how easy it will be to obtain a new one. Getting this one online was a breeze, a matter of a few weeks until issuance — the old Talking Heads song “Don’t Worry About the Govt” comes to mind a lot these days (“Some civil servants are just like my loved ones…”)
A few more early July happenings.
Persicaria polymorpha makes a good backdrop for Lobelia tupa
Phlomis x margaritae may bloom next year, but if not, that’s okay too.
wonderful leaves
another complicated emergence of a flower with Centaurea macrocephala aka basket flower
Dahlia ‘AC Rosebud’ has topped the fence again and mingles with Sanguisorba ‘Red Thunder,’ also a 6-footer. It was an alternate from a local dahlia grower, but I keep it because it’s sturdy enough to deal with the fierce daily wind! Only just in the past few days of early July have the roaring afternoon winds failed to appear, and it was bliss working in the garden all day.
mystery cherry pink dierama. Carl Thunberg, the “Father of South African Botany” is credited with the discovery of Dierama pendulum in the 1770s
The SoCal garden churned through a lot of attempts at growing dieramas. I’d figure they’re South African, I’m zone 10, we should get along famously. So many plant fails are due to faulty assumptions. Matching growing zones is only the beginning of the investigation as to whether conditions are suitable. Dieramas are not for hot dry gardens but come from cool mountainous regions in southeastern Africa. The fact that the famous Slieve Donard hybrids were developed in Northern Ireland says a lot about their preferred growing conditions. Hot and dry conditions in Northern Ireland must be thoughtfully provided, whereas in Los Angeles those are the brutal default conditions. (Simply compare the latitudes of Northern Ireland and Los Angeles for the strength of sunlight, something I’ve only recently started to take into account.) Novices make many such mistakes, but still trial-and-error can prove the astonishing range of plants and bring surprising results — just not, in my experience, with dieramas.
this Slieve Donard dierama appeared at a SoCal nursery and was brought up to Oregon. This strain of dieramas was developed mid 20th century at their namesake nursery in Northern Ireland, named for the highest peak of the Mourne Mountains. I’ve read about this strain since forever, nice to see it bloom in the Oregon garden. The darker colors steal all the oxygen, but this silvery number need not apologize, I love it.
zone categories are based on average minimum winter temperatures. Other factors like heat and rainfall were not originally given proportionate consideration
In fact, a theory I brought north to the Oregon garden, that growing conditions here would suit plants that are also happy in Ireland and Northern Europe, has been borne out. Here at the Oregon coast, dieramas bloom from a small size, often the first year they are planted out. No struggle, no gnashing of teeth.
From Australia and so far winter hardy here, Acacia pravissima speaks to the remarkable range of potential growing conditions tolerated by plants, which only trial-and-error can discover
Many faulty assumptions were also absorbed by the mostly photo-less books read in my formative garden years by plants people who were also great writers like Jekyll, Sackville-West, Russell Page, and Lloyd — when they referenced plants for hot, dry areas, I ignorantly assumed it as a ringing endorsement for Los Angeles gardens! British garden writers already had centuries of garden culture at their backs to lend that authoritative, confident tone to their writing. The Empire had been sending out explorers and botanists as far back as 1768, when Joseph Banks joined Captain James Cook’s voyage to observe the Transit of Venus. And all those plant specimens were brought back to the very propitious growing climate of the roughly zone 8 British Islands, which has a lot in common with the climate of the Oregon Coast.
early spring 2022. Rhodocoma capensis, the Cape restio from the Cape Province of South Africa, has been planted at base of far left stock tank. That generous graveled area has shrunk considerably the past four years.
What I’m realizing attracted me in those formative years reading about mostly zone 8 gardens was a framework for thinking about gardens, and the confident inclusion of selections and representations and, most importantly, sequences and chronology of natural cycles in this framework. The relative predictability and structure of planning for spring, summer, fall, and the creativity and purpose unleashed by the hard limitations of frost dates.
Digitalis parviflora beginning to color up. Herbaceous plants thrive here and assume astonishing shapes in a matter of months.
That whole psychological notion of the “summer garden” being this rare, fleeting phenomenon you have to grab with both hands, this is what was imparted and took hold in my garden imagination. And that’s what I’ve experienced in the Oregon garden. (And abandoning those misconceived notions is when I really began to explore the potential of the little zone 10 garden in Los Angeles.)
July 2022 — a young tetrapanax with world-conquering ambitions removed spring 2025. Rhodocoma just behind. This stock tank now holds a Darmera peltata, Eucalyptus ‘Baby Blue,’ Corokia ‘Sunsplash,’ Anemanthele lessoniana — and remnants of the expelled tetrapanax continually find their way up through the drain holes
the path through the gravel is no more than a dog track now. Rhodocoma capensis background on the right, over 6′ now. The restios perform very well in zone 10 too.
shimmering intergeneric hybrid Ozothamnus x cassinia in bloom
stock tank at eastern end is almost completely concealed by plants now. Originally planted with cassinia, manzanita and a restio, the latter pulled out this spring
Shimmering even harder as it edges into bloom, this Cassinia leptophylla ssp. fulvida was found at a SoCal nursery. Like ozothamnus, it’s from Australia/New Zealand. I rarely see it available. Rooted cuttings have been planted in the SoCal garden as well as the Oregon garden — don’t ever want to lose it! One of the original stock tank plants with Arctostaphylos ‘Sunset’ which, in a container, seems to tolerate summer water.
more small stature plants filling in the rocked area — Linaria ‘Peachy’
Looking for a purple-leaved sedum without pink flowers led to Sedum ‘Conga Line’ found locally with flowers on the buff/peach spectrum, planted this spring
still taking fliers on odds and ends like this form of Campanula punctata but generally avoiding the classic scene-stealing genera that grow so well here like peonies, roses, maples, rhodies, clematis, and mostly focusing on low-key textures and sparkling seasonal incidents that contribute but don’t dominate. A kind of modified chaparral approach that’s a hangover from 30 years of gardening in SoCal.
Eryngium varifolium has been through several winters
The asphodels hit all the marks, so good in leaf, flower and seedpods. (Still need to paint the fence!)
Symphytum ‘Axminster Gold’ beams amongst grasses
Newly planted this spring, Symphytum ‘Axminster Gold’ has proven robust enough to co-exist with grasses, not an easy niche to fill. Pinched back when planted, it’s branched out and muscled its way up and between the Silver Spike grass, Achnatherum calamagrostis.
side view of Silver Spike grasses with Penstemon ‘Dark Towers’ in foreground
Alstroemeria ‘Third Harmonic’ is also strong enough to find its way among grasses
Reading brought me first to gardens, not photo-heavy books, magazines or video how-to’s, and the idea of a discrete “summer” garden took on a mythic, Brigadoon-like quality for me. The Joe-Pye Weed was growing roughly center of the photo, in front of the large grasses
I mentioned on June 17th that Joe-Pye weed would eventually have to be moved, maybe next spring. But the idea became embedded like a sliver, and removal of the eutrochium was accomplished within the week. The enormous root ball was not easy to extricate, and because of its extensive roots the entire area was very dry, even after a good rain we had on the 20th of June.
Alongside Stipa gigantea, Geranium robustum from Secret Garden Growers this spring, borderline hardy, silvery fine-cut leaves, politely hoists itself up and into surrounding plants
yelllowy-chartreuse spires with Digitalis grandiflora and Phygelius ‘Strawberry Blonde’ with foreground Podocarpus ‘Mood Ring’
Digitalis grandiflora which I may have previously referred to as D. lutea, which is smaller and without the speckled throats. From the excellent Digging Dog Nursery on California’s North Coast near Mendocino.
Phygelius ‘Strawberry Blonde’ showing that uniform habit of growth phygelius achieves when cut back after winter
Very cold/wet tolerant Agastache auranticus selection by Xera Plants possibly ‘Mandarin Dream’ growing in a large metal trash container at the east end of the overhang. The Fritillaria persicara also in this container did not return after winter, which I’ve read is typical. Too expensive to treat as tulips though!
Rhodochiton atrosanguineus vine seems happy, blooming from a young size
“breadseed” poppies are spring bloomers in SoCal, lasting into summer here. This ‘Orange Chiffon’ strain came true from volunteers this spring
Amazingly, Echeveria agavoides has survived several winters here, thriving in this garden as well as in zone 10
This certainly turned out more long-winded than usual! And on to July. More soon, AGO.
shrub-like, fence-topping herbaceous Persicaria polymorpha with evergreen Metapanax delavayi on the right
Studying the back garden from under the overhang this morning (which has an electrical outlet, so typing as I study), I like the big blocks of growth I’m seeing, but it’s easy to predict more needed interventions ahead. The planted area of the back garden comprises roughly 625 square feet, all south facing.
Gillenia trifoliata on lower left, Stipa gigantea leanning in from left. Euphorbia stygiana just visible far right
The herbaceous giants include the sanguisorba, persicaria, joe-pye weed, Lobelia tupa, Stipa gigantea, Euphorbia stygiana, gillenia, Silver Spike grass (Achnatherum calamagrostis), interspersed and fronted by the more mid range in size like the early-blooming geums and sesleria and deschampsia grasses. I’m nervously aware that any of the giants could become the predominant players, squeezing out all other details. But so far, this June, everything is still holding together.
Gillenia trifoliata is at least 4×4′ this year
What drives me crazy in winter, when it all goes away and becomes an invisible garden, is one of the strengths in the growing season, being able to play with the shapes and shift things around when proportions change.
Before Jiune, evergreen Euphorbia stygiana was the largest presence in the garden, approx 5×5 after a spring pruning to keep it out of the path. Now, Persicaria polymorpha conceals it entirely when viewed from the overhang — above photo taken from the fence toward the house. Kniphofia thomsonii dwindles as the metapanax gains size and shade canopy– most of the kniphofia have been moved elsewhere
some of the Kniphofia thomsonii was moved to the space vacated by the tetrapanax and more clumps moved to the front garden
With most of my gardening life in zone 10, where it’s too warm for herbaceous plants to achieve dormancy and build up strength to return, (and way too dry), it’s these plants that I’ve always wanted to experience. Coupling that with a propensity for big shapes, big plants, and an appetite for an exihilarating rush of growth means that already lots of plants are in danger of being crowded out in this garden’s fourth summer.
Patrinia scabiosifolia in bud July 2023
For example, the patrinia planted between the shrub-like persicaria and Sanguisorba ‘Red Thunder’ is later to leaf out than those two, and as the latter mature early into big clumps, the patrinia dwindled from the canyon effect. It was moved this spring to a place vacated by the aptly name Dahlia ‘Camano Sitka,’ tree-like in size and vigor, which created its own canyon issues for surrounding plants. Those are just a couple examples of the many boundary disputes resolved this spring.
joe-pye weed to the right of the orange geums, Lobelia tupa behind the frothy white of Veronica catarractae. Both have a lot more growing to do!
Veronica cataractae has an invaluable shrubby presence early in the season and through summer
Deferred for now is the question on whether the joe-pye weed ultimately has to be moved as it pushes out on neighbors north, south, east and west. Either it gets shifted or the next-door Lobelia tupa moves. It will take the joe-pye weed much less time to rebuild than the lobelia, so the investment of time is another consideration.
view from the back fence toward the house, with Silver Spike Grass and Selinum wallichianum
The planting prominent in early spring, in the border closest to the back fence, cirsium, angelica, symphytum, hesperis, camassias, becomes concealed from the view from the overhang as the summer growth progresses. There’s about a 4-5 path between the back border and the fence.
Diatnthus barbatus ‘Oeschberg’
As the bloom of the orange geums becomes less profuse, June brings the flowering of the sweet williams I started from seed a few years ago. Described as biennial or short-lived perennial, clumps of the dark seed strain ‘Oeschberg’ return fattened up in spring, with no seeming intention of dwindling.
Burgundy eye of Halimiocistus ‘Merristwood Cream’
These are famous cut flowers, so they last long in the garden too and pick up like alliums all the other burgundy in leaf and flower I seem to favor.
sweet williams, halimiocistus and penstemon bring a corner into early focus in June
Most of the clumps of sweet william have been shifted to the front garden, moved to make way for newer things in the back, but they are invaluable for threading a strong line among grasses beginning in early summer and giving the impression that, after a slow spring, the garden is on its way. I’m thinking of trying the white strain too. The front garden acted as an escape valve for the overplanting in the back, but no more, both are full to capacity.
Penstemon ‘Mockingbird’ a hybrid bought at a recent plant fair from its nursery of origin Miller’s Manor Gardens Nursery
astrantia seems to be coping with increasing shade under the metapanax
The big shapes may dominate but smaller scale planting fills containers and the graveled area.
a week-old photo of the asphodels, which are still showing color today, a long season of interest. Tall spikes are now up on Eryngium agavifolium on the right
There’s very few local gardens to study, though I do see peonies, roses, and oriental poppies in bloom now, and the invasive gorse (Ulex europaeus) gleams on the coast and in clearcut areas.
Climber Solanum laxum remains evergreen in a mild winter and has been cut back to keep it in bounds and climbing upright. A Chilean Glory Vine survived the winter and is threading its way up too. A stock tank with Darmera peltata is concealed by the plantings from this view, which include Rhodocoma capensis that gets thinned every spring
Long Beach zone 10 garden end of May 2025 (my phone photos!) after a full day of weeding and watering. The red-leaved Euphorbia cotinifolia hadn’t leafed out yet when I left in early April.
I spent two days at the end of May in Long Beach (garden USDA zone 10), readying the house for some friends’ upcoming stay. (The second day, May 30, topped 95F — what a homecoming!) The profligate weediness in the garden continues, with couch grass encroaching everywhere, and that’s after diligent weeding all winter. Neighbors ruefully report this new weedy state of affairs in their own gardens too, and we all lament wtf? Whatever the cause, the only hope is to stay on top of the weeds until the cycle hopefully breaks and the supply of weed seeds is exhausted.
In my absence since early April, the Minoan Lace, Orlaya grandiflora, had a banner year, and multiple clumps were weeded out, as were most of the spent Poppies of Troy, Papaver setigerum. And even though the mother plant is gone, I noted quite a few bocconia seedlings too near the back wall — too many!
The performance of self-sowing plants has also been incredibly robust — I’ve never seen so many Orlaya grandiflora in bloom here before. All the poppies were pulled and only a few orlaya left to bloom and reseed.
prominent summer actors are now kangaroo paws and Sonchus palmensis, which had many bloomed-out trusses trimmed but more keep coming.
To those of you with hand-made gardens, you probably also know the where/when/how/why of every plant in your garden, why choices were made and how it comes to look as it does at this moment in time. It is a process unlike anything else, engaging parts of the brain and heart like no other endeavor I’ve pursued. So shuttling quickly between two hand-made gardens at the near-height of their seasonal expression is disconcerting to say the least. (Aloe lukeana’s elongating bloom spikes will flower in my absence!) Both gardens excite me in very different ways, and both are hard to leave.
Pelargonium multiradiatum
Incredibly, a small collection of potted species pelargoniums survived months of neglect, so I decided to increase their odds of survival by planting them in the garden among succulents, whose water needs are most similar. P. multiradiatum and P. glaucifolium have both flourished and expanded into big clumps, with good leaves and tiny flowers that don’t steal any thunder from the succulents but just add some leafy richness (and smother weeds).
The newly planted leucospermum on the right got a much-needed long drink of water
After a two-day train trip back to Oregon, Mitch took the following photos of the zone 8b garden:
June 1, the summer garden takes shape. Unlike the architectural zone 10 garden, the zone 8 garden is mostly shapeless after the winter cutback until late spring. There are a lot of evergreens, but the percentage in the back garden leans herbaceous.
beautiful and evergren Acacia pravissima
a nice moment, everything relatively in scale before the big surge of the summer crowd like joe-pye weed and Lobelia tupa
Plants like Centaurea macrocephala I admire for their buds as much as their flowers
Parahebe perfoliata at its best when it starts with fresh growth every spring, most old growth cut back late winter
P.S. Please don’t read further if you’d rather avoid politics. It just seems bizarre not to mention the latest outrages of these dangerous times. Take care! More soon, AGO
(Shout out to Oregon’s Attorney General for leading the lawsuit challenging emergency tariff powers, which was upheld by the U.S. Court of International Trade, though currently stayed on appeal. Back home, the Port of Los Angeles is at half capacity. My grandfather died on those docks, my father, uncles, cousins and Marty all worked their entire careers at the port. A million Los Angeles County jobs derive from port-related activity. It is the economic engine of both Los Angeles and Long Beach, and it is sputtering under the tariffs. And the federal assaults on Los Angeles don’t stop, with the latest being the excessive and illegal show of force over immigration protests — but California is apparently the wrong color, on so many levels, so an easy, vengeful target…)
Two divisions were spilt off from this main clump of Cirsium ‘Trevor’s Blue Wonder’ and replanted. With the help of overcast skies, they’ve settled in and have already started to bloom. The cirsium, geum and hesperis are all early arrivals that give April/May a sense of occasion. The geum and hesperis are usually finished by July, but last year the cirsium threw flowers all summer. And they all love this heavy, wet soil. Hesperis is a biennial that reseeds, similar concept to a Verbena bonariensis for spring.
Believe it or not, I was worried I might miss the tail-end of the rainy season when returning to the coast in early April. I was hearing reports of a dryish winter, and I seem to remember 2024’s summer dry season commencing at the end of April. Instead, to my great joy, May has provided the best drizzly, overcast skies for shuffling and resettling plants. And I got the rain fix I needed — Marty is not quite as appreciative of the wet weather.
Anthriscus ‘Ravenswing’ is another strong early presence in April/May that knits together surrounding emerging foliage
Another good plant that was disturbed in its spring foliar glory is Filipendula ‘Red Umbrellas.’ I’ve been brooding over the lack of softly mounding shapes this spring, which this filipendula does so well. The main clump was dug and split into thirds, and once again rainy May worked its magic on the transplants.
Eryngium guatamalense. Until Windcliff, the only source was from Europe. Jimi Blake grows it at Huntingbrook in Ireland, where his soil and climate conditions strike me as very similar to the Oregon coast — I had to try it!
Knowing that Dan Hinkley would be coming to the coast to give a talk in April for the Hoffman Center of the Arts’ Wonder Garden, I assumed he would be bringing some Windcliff plants for the plant sale also in April. But he wasn’t. No idea why I assumed this. So turns out my request to Ketzel to ask Dan to bring Eryngium guatamalense could be construed as very pushy because there wasn’t an overall plant sale order. Incredibly mortifying. Yet they laughed and wouldn’t even let me pay for it. Oh, the shame (but oh, the excitement to see if it likes my garden!)
Eryngium ‘Big Blue’ has been reliably returning since 2021.
For me Dan’s talk was a fascinating continuum of the (to me) familiar story of his wildly successful nurseries, plant hunting, and gardens. I knew Windcliff suffered severe damage from winter 2024, and a large section of it was solarized in anticipation of replanting. To hear Hinkley admit how things began to go “sideways” at Windcliff due to septic tank issues, winter damage, and how he managed to become excited all over again from a rogue patch of volunteer opium poppies — for me it answered a lot of questions I had after visiting Windcliff in summer 2024. I mention this because I did hear one comment from someone perhaps not so familiar with the Hinkley chronicles, and his rollicking, often droll speaking style, who wished there was more talk of individual plants. (Which strikes me as expecting recipes from Anthony Bourdain.) But the talk seemed very enthusiastically and warmly received. Loree of Danger Garden gives the next one on May 30 — unfortunately I’m out of town. Go Loree!
Eryngium agavifolium looks strong after winter. Nearby Morina longifoliia bloomed well for a few years but did not return this spring.
Digitalis ‘Honey Trumpet’ from the Wonder Garden plant sale, discovered by Xera Plants. Digitalis purpurea would be another early presence for spring but I’m just not a fan, but I do like the rusty summer foxgloves and am trialing Digitalis lutea,
Also strong in May, Lysimachia atropurpurea. Unfortunately it doesn’t appear to reseed so new plants were added in April.
Finally, a little leggy, but Crambe maritima is in bloom, a first. Hopefully the pea-like seedpods ensue.
new this spring Deschampsia ‘Tatra Gold’
front garden, view east from the open gate
The front garden has been both receiving and supplying plants in the ongoing shuffle. All the nonblooming ‘Helen Von Stein’ lamb’s ears have been moved from the back garden to the front. They thicken up too fast in the back garden and are more useful where they will be kept drier over summer.
front garden Cistus ‘Jenkyn Place’
Sobaria sorbifolia has a similar effect to Rhus typhina but purportedly less invasive
Siberian iris classic ‘Caesar’s Brother’ was a Wonder Garden castoff
I’ve tried various small euphorbias like ‘Dean’s Hybrid,’ ‘Blue Haze,’ but this is the one I’ve been waiting for, ‘Copton Ash’
late April 2025 after a couple weeks of cleanup mostly on dry days. Though I did grab Marty’s foul weather gear from his LA harbor days and suited up to work in a rainstorm for a full day — the drive to spring clean the garden is strong!
I worked for 20 years in a profession famous for repetitive stress injuries to the wrists (court reporting) and never suffered from one and could only wonder what it must feel like to those having to wear wrist splints as part of daily attire. Now I wonder no more. Cutting back the garden since arriving in early April, the right wrist really started to feel it. It’s back to normal now, but that marathon spring cutback session needs rethinking. While the pain memory is still fresh, I thought some notes on tuning up this spring garden might be helpful to review next spring, hopefully prompting some workarounds. (For comparison, the cleanup work we put into the Los Angeles garden last October was exhausting, but no one particular muscle group was affected more than the other — everything hurt!)
asphodels are this cool with no attention at all
another flawless presence in spring, Polemonium ‘Golden Feathers’
I was resigned to the libertias performing as tidy foliage plants — finally some flowers!
compact form of Brachyglottis greyi joined by flowers of Euphorbia ‘Miner’s Merlot’
late April 2025 feels like the garden is an orchestra, chaotically tuning up. Between my efforts to cut back and clean things up and the afternoon wind blowing out the chaff, we’re getting there
backdrop with new wood of the fence repair. On the right, Stipa gigantea and dierama both require labor intensive tidying.
Dierama needs careful cleanup due to its asymmetric and akimbo growth pattern that juts out stalks awkwardly. I sacrificed some summer blooms to lasso it back into a more vase-like outline and trimmed a lot of its ratty blades. (The Olearia x mollis ‘Zennorensis’ directly behind the dierama surprisingly flourished, but the two shapes fought each other. Which one to move? Not wanting to set back blooms on the dierama, I opted to move the olearia to the front garden, which has a mostly evergreen presence.) The giant restio Rhodocoma capensis was thinned a lot; arguably, it needs a bigger garden than mine, but even reduced and thinned it has a strong presence, so it stays for now. And it definitely has more breathing room now that the tetrapanax is gone — above ground anyway!
The removed tetrapanax was sited roughly where the round tank is now temporarily situated, I’m finding and removing new shoots of the tetrapanax daily. Rhodocoma capensis just behind. Euphorbia characias seedlings are progeny from the mother plant in full bloom this spring that had grown thin and woody so was removed . Great temporary plants for a new garden. A division of mountain mint, Pycnanthem muticum, replaced the euphorb (roughly between stipa and dierama),
Something Ketzel Levine said at Manzanita’s Wonder Garden plant sale last weekend stuck with me. Some of us volunteers were looking at a congested clump of Eryngium paniculatum, and our fearless director said sometimes it’s best to dig up and divide a mature clump rather than waste time trying to clean it. Now, to me, a mature clump of anything is a huge asset, capable of producing more blooms, and some tap-rooted plants don’t take lightly to being divided, but the general point is well taken. The giant eryngo in my garden, E. padanifolium, becomes a congested mass of spiky leaves, very scratchy cleanup work. I opted for a shortcut this week and removed most of the rosettes, leaving the largest. And as for Stipa gigantea, this evergreen grass needs a lot of tidying and cutting back of old bloom spikes, and I’ll most likely divide it next spring and start fresh –.I wouldn’t be without it. The seslerias and deschampsias also need extensive raking and trimming.
Chionochloa rubra, practically perfect in every way, needed no cleanup at all, fronted by one of the many eyrngos in the garden
Achnatherum calamagrostis, camassias, and Symphyttum ‘Axminster Gold’ planted in April. This grass needs only the old flower spikes cut back
Between the two clumps of Silver Spike Grass grew one of the many divisions of Succisella inflexa spread throughout the garden, a fizzy pollinator-attracting perennial that adores growing conditions here and quickly extends to sizeable clumps. With pale lavender, knautia-like flowers, it was a boon to the new garden but becoming an aggressive spreader. Only one clump remains. Symphytum ‘Axminster Gold’ was found at Blooming Junction, a good nursery an hour and a half away. (We made a couple trips to a nearby mechanic to get my Mini Cooper checked out, so there were some unexpected plant shopping opportunities. Garaged all winter, nevertheless, upon startup the Mini had a fit and was throwing multiple computer codes, and the windows, turn signals and windshield wipers wouldn’t work. A hefty repair bill for the Mini at 14 years old, 100,000 miles, but we’ve no interest in car shopping at the moment!)
from left, Eryngium padanifolium, Euphorbia griffithii, camassia, geum, backed by Silver Spike Grass and comfrey
The comfrey is a much better background for the camassias than the nondescript green leaves of succisella, and as it gains size and spills over the riser it will help conceal the dying camassia leaves.
Euphorbia griffithii
Metapanax delavayii loved the relatively mild winter
Overall, since breaking ground in October 2021, more plants have survived than failed, so there’s been lots of digging and relocating this spring. (The only transplant I fear may not survive is Sinopanax formosanus, which flourished in a location that was inappropriate for the size it was attaining, so it had to be moved in any case.) Regrettably I did remove Hebe parviflora var. angustifolia, and will miss its glowing willowy presence when at its peak of summer/fall beauty. As it grew to over 4 feet, however, its scruffy spring presence became harder to ignore.
Hebe ‘New Zealand Gold,’ Phlomis monocephala and Cassinia x ozothamnus
I expected a similarly scruffy appearance from the stock tank beschorneria, but the buffering effect from the nearby Cassinia x ozothamnus may have saved it from winter’s worst. See, it pays to overplant!
Angelica sylvestris ‘Ebony’, one plant survived from a packet of seed. Wonderful spring presence. If it blooms in late summer, fall would be the time to collect the seed and sow it fresh for more plants next spring
also new to the garden is another dark-leaved plant for early spring presence, biennial Anthriscus ‘Ravenswing’ –known to reseed true to type
The anthriscus share ground with a young Stachyurus salicifolia, melianthus, Aralia cordata ‘Sun King’ and a nicely maturing Thalictrum ‘Elin’ just in front of the stock tank.
Thalictrum ‘Black Stockings’
Also here, Thalictrum ‘Black Stockings’ can’t hold a candle to the majesty of ‘Elin’ (imho). Digitalis ferruginea is reseeding almost too prolifically here, and I’m trialing a couple Digitalis lutea too.
In a very mossy, narrow bed against the Oregon house, north-facing, street-facing, this dark-leaved strain of honesty sown from seed was planted out last summer. Germination was quick and robust — I had dozens of seedlings. This spring these biennials in the back garden are spindly with a few leaves; the front garden honesty are tall and lush, an intensely purple sight so early in the season.
incredibly, the snails and slugs leave honesty alone
I can only surmise they prefer this sheltered, protected spot against the house. In between bouts of cutting back last season’s growth since we arrived April 5, cool and muddy work, I like to take frequent breaks to check on this little group of honesty that is having its best moment right now.
August/September 2024
When we left in October 2024, the front garden honesty was making gorgeous, big-leaved carpets, and I’m sure I was thinking “Good luck holding on to those leaves over winter — see you in spring!’ I had no idea what to expect. (I wrote in August 2024: “This display of characterful leaves that’s extended all summer may be a one-off, so I’m hesitant to talk about them because I don’t fully understand what’s going on. They are carpeting the narrow border on the north side of the house. Lunaria is a biennial, so when these plants bloom next spring this show of leaves will be over. Somehow the timing of when I sowed and planted them resulted in big lush leaves all summer. It’s probably just a fluke that will be impossible to replicate.”)
April 2024 apparently had flowers too. I can’t remember if I made multiple sowings or the plants aged differently depending on when planted out. Seed was ordered from Jelitto June 2023. Honesty is famous for its translucent seedpods, aka the money plant, which I saved for vases indoors.
Not only did they hold on to those impeccable leaves, the plants grew richer and deeper in color as well as tall and strong over a winter that saw winds rampageous enough to knock down a section of fence. (It seems we are perpetually building and repairing fences.)
aquilegias grown from seed also flourish here with the honesty. This might be A. oxysepala…or A. atrata. Clumps of chartreuse forest grass were dug from Manzanita’s Wonder Garden, where conditions were deemed too dry for them in summer.
As far as the garden overall, arriving a week earlier might have been preferable, because the growth on the grasses and perennials is already tall and strong. The camassias are tall and in bud, as are tulips in pots. After much hemming and hawing, I’ve removed the tetrapanax/rice paper plant. Stunning as those big leaves are, the roots are tunneling through the gravel and colonizing the stock tanks. The giant leaves provide shade where it’s not needed in a very small garden, and overall tetrapanax now scores more as nuisance than asset. (Your calculus may vary.) I’m sure that won’t be the end of this famously ineradicable plant, though, in either the north or south gardens. I’ve shuffled around a couple olearias and the sinopanax, and am happy to report that the Acacia pravissima sailed through winter — though not the Acacia cultriformis.
More fence work today, so Billie will be safe to wander the back garden. While her leg mends from surgery, there will be no romping with the very energetic labradors next-door who bark at Marty through the gap while he makes the repair. Fences make good dog neighbors too!
With just one week until we depart for Oregon, the Long Beach garden has finally taken a shape that feels horticulturally logical to me, according to my tastes and the slim resources it will have available in my absence. A neighbor has promised to look in and water containers in exchange for use of our driveway for parking. (Many of the houses in this early 1900 neighborhood do not have driveways. The situation is so dire, police have stopped ticketing red-zone parking). Thanks to the spring surge in growth, the ground is covered where intended and winter-ascendant weeds are at last in remission. Paths are clear and weeded…for now. The bare minimum. All my more-is-more garden energy will be absorbed by the Oregon garden, where the colder rainy winter won’t give in to spring until at least mid-May. The Long Beach garden will roughly hold this shape all year; the Oregon garden dramatically shape-shifts, going from bust to boom in a span of 5-6 months, an exhilarating spectacle.
with winter aloes out of bloom, next big event will come from a few clumps of anigozanthos/kangaroo paws
Neither garden is large, and the Long Beach garden strikes me as having more in common with a spacious greenhouse — if only I could transport it in its entirety north!
self-sown Papaver setigerum, a smaller version of the breadseed poppy
Familiar reseeders like orlaya won’t be in bloom for a couple. more weeks. (There may be some orlaya reseeding in Oregon too, but bloom time will be closer to summer.) I wasn’t sure if I’d catch the Poppy of Troy in flower before we left, but the first bloom opened today — very bland words to describe that transfixing moment of seasonal excitement.
Gladiolus communis ssp. byzantinus
There’s lots of grassy bulb foliage popping up. Instinctively I want to simplify and pull it out. Which is when I remind myself: When did I ever plant anything I wasn’t intensely curious about or infatuated with — like, currently, Verbascum roripifolium, whose seeds I’ve been shuttling up and down the West Coast? If it’s in the garden, I planted it for a reason, even if I’ve forgotten the where and when, and I should trust that initial impulse. So I leave the grassy blades alone and wait…and am rewarded with the flowers of the Byzantine Gladiolus. (See note on bulb strain here.) There’s also a lot of ixia in the garden, a deep pink ‘Venus’ and a creamy yellow variety ‘Buttercup.’
Also in bloom are pieces of the Cotyledon oblongota moved from the front garden. I was hoping it would prove robust enough to compete with bromeliads and sedges, and so far that appears to be the case.
strong golds from Sonchus palmensis and a dwarf Tagetes lemonii. Lower left leaves from the Pewter plant, Strobilanthes lanata (previously S. gossypinus), which tolerates a hard cutback. Flickers of magenta are from Salvia chiapensis — lots of salvias come and go in the garden, but this fallback sage suits my zone 10 garden best
Most of the hanging plants have been taken down from the pergola, including the big tractor funnels, just as a precaution in case of high winds
Rescued from the front garden where it had been weed-whacked into near oblivion, Cussonia paniculata thankfully has a fresh flush of leaves
this spring is my first encounter with the crazy orb flowers of trevesia
new addition Leucadendron ‘Cloudbank Ginny’
My no-new-plants rule seems to have some flexibility — a few leucadendrons and a pincushion/leucospermum. A few hesperaloe, tulbaghia. Couple of ‘Pacific Night’ coprosma, dark as the ‘Ebony’ leucadendron but better able to handle my absence.
Erodium pelargoniflorum with Mangave ‘Navajo Princess’
So many constraints on gardens: soil, climate, size, resources; adding absence to that list shouldn’t be a big deal…I’m hoping to shuttle between gardens every few months this go-round.
late afternoon on a very quiet spring day in the zone 10 garden, ready to carry on without me
Notocactus warasii at the Huntington Botanical Gardens in San Marino, California in March
It’s been too long! In my absence the past few years, there are now reservation requirements, QR codes, and repeated checkpoints throughout the gardens to reverify the QR codes. There’s also sushi in the very crowded cafe to refuel after two hours in the desert garden on a warm day with a high noon reservation. Even on a weekday, by noon the acres of parking were spoken for.
Aloidendron dichotomum aka Aloe dichotoma aka Quiver Tree. I asked staff about the support structure and was told it’s a new acquisition from a private donation and unfortunately is showing a bit of rot…
I was especially excited to finally visit the newly built desert conservatory, construction of which has altered some access to the desert garden for at least…five years? But it’s not finished…yet. Maybe June, I was told, but don’t bet on that date either.
Staff told me private donations of large specimens are viewed positively, even if it involves a lot of work for plants that are not necessarily rare, but it helps to keep the local community engaged and invested in the garden. A large donation of camellias rescued from the Palisades fire was recently obtained.
A staff member hinted that some of the delay in finishing the conservatory might be due to funding. (If an institution like the Huntington, with its name recognition and large endowment, struggles to fund projects, imagine the difficulties for small town libraries and museums now that the Institute of Museum and Library Services has become a target for elimination.)
a jarring moment
As on this visit, I often skip all the rest that the Huntington has to offer — art, manuscripts, rose garden, Japanese garden etc — and confine my attention to the Desert Garden, which I find can disorder the senses like a psychotropic drug (in a good way). Yet I wasn’t in the Desert Garden five minutes before I heard staff asking a woman to keep her kids out of the plantings when taking photos. She sounded surprised at the request but immediately complied. So there are jarring moments, of course, even in botanical paradise because….well, people.
But when you finally escape the crowded perimeter paths, the garden really begins to work its magic, that unique lost world appeal I find irresistible.
As one of the world’s oldest and largest collections of cacti and succulents, the enormous emeritus specimens provide a rich vertical backdrop that designers expertly use to build up volume and a multi-layered experience. In other words, it is not just a collection, it is emphatically also a garden.
Aloe camperi ‘Cornuta’
same scene as above but revealing the writhing variegated agaves in the center
barrel cactus and Cleisocactus strausii
like a silvery grassland but comprised of puyas, terrestrial bromeliads, which will bloom later in April — don’t miss it if you’re in town! Architecturally stunning, puya flowers are some of the best sapphire, turquoise, and indigo blues the botanical world has to offer
Aloe cryptopoda x A. arborescens
labeled Hechtia glauca
The big views may be breathtaking, but the planting details don’t disappoint either.
unlabeled echinopsis
Just before this visit I planted these two together at home after finding the bromeliad cheap in a large quantity at the flea market — Aechmea recurvata, a bromeliad that tolerates full sun, with Tradescantia pallida — nice validation to see them used together at the Huntington too!
Locals can form very intimate, interactive relationships with the Desert Garden, making notes for future plant sale purchases or mourning losses. This morning I took out Aloe ‘David Verity’ after seeing the size it attains at the Huntington, where it was discovered. Seeing aloes I’ve grown and lost, like the Huntington’s selections ‘Kujo’ and ‘Jacob’s Ladder,’ brings pangs of regret as I wander the paths. My white whale, Aloe scobinifolia, was also seen this visit. I did not know when this aloe grew so well for me what a treasure I had, until too much shade overcame it.
cream-colored California poppies are a low-key spring addition to the grassland meadow adjacent to the entry garden with aloes and Eucalyptus macrocarpa (not seen).
I was absolutely wiped out after a three-hour visit, but tired and sore in the best way after getting reacquainted with my local garden lodestar. Next visit, the desert conservatory! (Fingers crossed…)
I linger quite a bit on this image from the Rhododendron Species Botanical Garden (RSBG). Silver, gold, rust tones on the foreground rock outcropping, lacy ferns gently breaking the horizontal, backed by that incredible mounding conifer. Casuarina glauca might work for the mounding whipcord effect in warmer zones.
Lately I’ve been dipping more and more frequently into photos taken while garden touring last summer with the Garden Fling, a highly recommended garden tour group. Compared to what’s being reported in this crazy news cycle, making and caring for a garden is the epitome of a fact-based, thoughtful, creative endeavor, considering multiple inputs and striving for a result that, hopefully, nourishes the maker intellectually, sensually, even potentially nutritionally, along with friends and resident wildlife. All the gardens toured last summer accomplished many of these goals, leaving those who visited with some breathtaking memories.
hardy schefflera/heptapleurum anchors a mixed planting at Heronswood also including hardy geraniums, sedum, phlomis, Lonicera nitida
The Puget Sound Garden Fling visited gardens made in the context of a region rich with garden societies and specialty nurseries, annual rainfall 40 inches and up, USDA zone 8-9ish. The best garden tours will showcase gardens reveling in their unique climate, with owners deeply knowledgeable of the vagaries of their seasons as well as how to care for experiments with marginally hardy plants.
in the Gray Garden, visions of Little Edie of Gray Gardens bustling around serving “pate” (cat food) on trays had to be banished to absorb this elegant garden whose only similarity to Little Edie’s garden was the name
in the Carhart garden
In the Puget Sound area, the tour saw plantings, for example, starting with a base of lichens, mosses, sedums and sempervivum clinging to rocks, past a detailed understory of shrubs, bulbs, and perennials, tracing upward to the 30-40 foot tree canopy of fir, cedar and hemlock. Very well-clothed gardens! Every possibility for plant life of some kind to thrive was thoroughly exploited to spectacular effect.
at Heronswood soft drapery for the pergola, a weeping conifer, maybe the Kashmir Cypress?
you never see agaves treated as stars in a pot of summer bedding in zone 10, especially A. americana which quickly grows large and unruly. Seen at Heronswood with banana and what looks like cercis and lots of other stuff, the agave becomes a coveted component of a fleeting summer scene.
using salvage metal for a hanging container at the RSBG
the stylish replacement for a garage door reflects this tableaux’s many admirers at the Heckler garden
the metal fishing float was a standout among the many glass floats — beautiful in their own right as well as placing the garden in a maritime region
touring gardens, for example, can reveal a like-minded affinity many share for sewer grates (Heckler garden). Gardens can absorb interests in shapes, textures and materials that would be unsuitable indoors.
beautiful specimen of Acanthus sennii — I’d only seen straggly versions before
the mesmerizing rhythmic patterns of Impatiens omeiana enmasse with synleisis
My garden touring budget this summer has been busted by another ACL surgery for Billie, a full TPLO this time — hopefully the last! But I hope you get out to see some gardens this coming season. Just as in hearing music live, nothing comes close to visiting gardens in person. And at a minimum, you’ll take away photos as powerful talismans nearly capable of teleportation.
