Bonfire ignites

In the next few months, those little pale pink nodules will grow into a lush plant 

with graceful orange-red bell-shaped blooms.

In bloom, Begonia 'Bonfire' is a hot little plant. Hot enough, in fact, to make room in the downstairs closet to overwinter it. A weekend check of the overwintering chambers revealed tiny nubbins of new growth on 'Bonfire.' Time to move it to brighter quarters!

I've been really happy with 'Bonfire.' The burn begins slowly, but will escalate into a full-fledged explosion of color in the next few months. It's easy care during the growing season -- I treat it as I treat most of my container plantings. That means a weekly shot of liquid fertilizer and nearly daily watering in hot weather. The last two summers it's had a place near the front door where it gets morning sunshine and afternoon shade. It may get moved to the backyard this year, near the pond but out of intense afternoon sun and where it may better fit in with the prevailing color palette.

Overwintering the plant couldn't be easier. In fall, right about the time of the first frost, I whack off the stems and leaves. It's brutal but necessary because I want the plant to go dormant. Make sure the pot is moist and move it into a dark, cool place. I use the big downstairs closet where we also overwinter the potted water lilies and store the potatoes and onions. I check on it occasionally during the winter and if it seems exceptionally dry I give it a sprinkle of water. (But not too much -- I don't want rot to set in.) Then, in spring, it tells me when it's ready to come back into the light, and I, gradually, over the course of a couple of days, acclimate it to brighter conditions. Once it gets a little more growth under its belt, it will start getting lightly fertilized, and, possibly, a new pot and fresh soil. Then, sometime around the end of May it will find its way outside.

Favorite plant of the day: Hydrangea 'Tardiva'

Frost glitters on 'Tardiva'.

As I was cruising the garden last Monday for the Seventh Day Project (see gallery at top right), I was reminded of how much I like Hydrangea paniculata 'Tardiva'. It's at its showiest in late August/early September when it's in bloom, but I also like it when the blossoms are dried and brown like they are now. The lacy flowers are the color of weak tea and look so fragile that one wonders how they could possibly still be held on the shrub.

This is 'Tardiva' in early September. Notice the flush of pale pink.

This plant has stood the test of time here having been planted a number of years ago. We bought it in a five-gallon pot from Edelweiss Nursery and it has thrived on the north side of the house; it's now 5 feet high, give or take a few inches. The deer have occasionally browsed on it, but because flowers occur on new growth that's not a huge problem. A late winter pruning is recommended anyway.

Fine Gardening has more about the care of 'Tardiva' here.

'Tardiva' catches some afternoon sun in its location on the north side of the house. The flowers glow against the dark conifers; it's underplanted with lingonberry and Johnson's blue geranium. (The geranium probably should be moved now that the hydrangea has grown.)

In December, the stems of 'Tardiva' create a pattern against the house.

Bye-bye 'African Moon'

It's not yet Halloween, but next year's seed catalogs already are arriving.

'African Moon' boasts a cheery flower. But is it an Osteospermum or Dimorphotheca?

The first of the seed catalogs for 2010 arrived in the mail this week. I'm still trying to tie up all the loose ends from 2009. Blame some of it on our wet, dreary October, but I still have containers to empty, dahlias to dig for overwintering and seed trays to wash. 2010 seems like a long way off. But on a gloomy afternoon, I'll take the bait and flip through the pages of the Thompson & Morgan catalog. After all, that red cosmos ('Rubenza') on the cover is plenty attractive.

On the sale pages for discontinued seed is one of my favorite annuals from this past summer: Osteospermum 'African Moon.' Say it ain't so! The plant isn't perfect, but it's just as garden-worthy as many other annuals. The foliage can be a little floppy, but the flower is a nice white with yellow-apricot edges. It bloomed its head off, and I think if I had been diligent about deadheading I could have gotten even more out of it.

The poor plant has suffered from some ambiguous marketing. T&M sells the seed as Osteospermum pluvialis and in the catalog refers to Dimorphotheca as a synonym for Osteospermum. But www.osteospermum.com says that Dimorphotheca and Osteospermum are not the same. Stokes Seeds lists them as separate genera. This sort of disconnect makes it hard for home gardeners to know exactly what they're getting. What we thought was Osteospermum seems to more accurately be Dimorphotheca.

Naming issues aside, we may have to order some seeds earlier than planned or seek out other sources to keep our 'African Moon' shining.

One cool thing about 'African Moon' is that its flowers close in the evening or on overcast days. The undersides of the petals are pretty in their own right.

That's 'African Moon' at top left and Osteospermum 'Asti White' on the right. There seems to be no confusion about 'Asti White's' Osteospermum roots.

A low-growing phlox borders a bright patch of 'African Moon.' 'African Moon's' foliage appeared disappointingly limp in 2008 so this year I planted them closer together and they seemed to appreciate the tighter quarters.

Favorite plant of the day: Bee balm

Every summer the bee balm (right) makes an impression.

We've had several visitors to sillydoggarden the past few weeks and the bee balm invariably has been among the plants to generate the most comments. I grow one kind of bee balm, Monarda didyma 'Raspberry Wine'.

A bee sips nectar from a blossom. The plant is a favorite of bees and hummingbirds. The plant apparently gets its moniker because the buds (lower right) resemble raspberries.

There are others -- red, purple and pink, tall and short -- but for me none can compare to 'Raspberry Wine'. The plant grew respectably in a semi-shaded location but really came into its own when I moved it to the east side of the house where it gets a half-day or more of sun and decent soil. Unlike some other bee balms, this one is labeled as being resistant to powdery mildew and I can vouch for its vigor. I don't think I've ever had a mildew infestation in more than a decade of growing this plant.

The Monarda genus is named after Nicolas Monardes (1493-1588), a Spanish physician who wrote "Joyfull Newes out of the New Found Worlde'' (translated by John Frampton, 1580). Monardes never went to America but studied the effects of medicinal plants from the New World in a botanical garden in Seville, according to the digital library of Vanderbilt Medical Center. Sounds like a fun way to make a living to me.

The plant also is known as Oswego tea; American Indians used its leaves to brew a tea for pleasure and to treat digestive ailments. It became popular among the colonists and was drunk instead of black tea during the period of the Boston Tea Party. I've never tried making tea from my plants; I suspect there would be differences in flavor among the species.

I tend to grow things tight. Here, an Oriental lily is tucked in among the bee balm stems.

Bad-hair day? No way. Bee balm revels in its shaggy heads.

Gardens are way more than visual. In the spirit of engaging senses other than sight, here is "Why Do You Think They Call It Bee Balm?" (Yes, those are bees that you're hearing.)

Favorite plant of the day: Borage

Up close, borage flowers have an other-worldly quality.

Why? Because this morning I was struck by the way the dew collects on the flowers and fuzzy stems and leaves. Both the leaves and flowers are edible (the leaves really do have a flavor similar to cucumber) but mostly I enjoy the plant for its sky-blue flowers. This is another one of those self-sowers where the major effort is editing -- pulling out those seedlings you don't want. There is a white form of borage, but I like the blue better.

Borage stands tall above a bed of California poppies,
another annual that requires a lot of editing.

Favorite plant of the day: 'Lauren's grape' poppy

How can anyone not love this plant? It's a stunner up close ...


... and from a step back ...


... and in context with other bloomers including lilies, pink allium, purple Salvia nemorosa 'Caradonna' and white phlox.


This Papavar somniferum is a selection introduced by horticulturist Lauren Springer Odgen. The seed was selected in Colorado and isolated over seven years to get the pure seed strain. She's also the author of one of my favorite plant resources, "The Undaunted Garden."

I had a few of these poppies in last year's garden and deliberately let them go to seed. They are nothing if not prolific. This spring, I was rewarded with a gazillion seedlings that a friend said looked like lettuce. Just remember to thin; you get bigger, juicier blooms and healthier plants if they're not so crowded.

Favorite plant of the day: Clematis

Claire de lune is the only clematis I'm growing. That's crazy; I need more.

So much to catch the eye right now: bearded iris, Siberian iris, sweet woodruff, ajuga, forget-me-nots, veronica, viburnum, roses. But this morning it was the clematis Claire de lune Evirin. The surprise factor made it the clear winner. Enjoying the morning ritual of a stroll through the garden, I turned a corner and there it was with three open blooms. It's taken several years for this clematis to reach this point. I was tempted several times to pull the darn thing out; it seemed a waste of the copper trellis, a handcrafted birthday gift from my husband. At one point it appeared to have died. But it stayed and persevered and now I know that pale lavender is the color of patience rewarded.

The color works well with the blue-purple Ajuga reptans (bugleweed)
in the background. The clematis is growing in a semi-shady spot
on the north side of the house.