Not Too Late for the Poppy Reserve

Just a quick note, a gorgeous pix, and a big thanks to TP member Hugh3of5.

If you're anywhere in the southern CA area and you've never been to Antelope Valley, the time is NOW. Admittedly, I've just read that the poppies have peaked, but there's still plenty to see.

Another no-brainer for you So CAL flower power types...here's a number for your cell phone: (818) 768-3533. It's the Wildflower Hotline sponsored by the Theodore Payne Foundation. Let me know if you get somewhere gorgeous and whether I should knock myself out to go, too. I could make it next wkend if you say it's a must.

2:40 PM ET | 05- 2-2008 | permalink | comments (1) | e-mail post

 

Behold, Sumptuous Snapshots

A recent walk through the Talking Plants photo garden reveals that your eyes are keen and your imaginations fired. How I treasure you roving troubadours of spring.

Another TP regular didn't have to go very far to find stunning spring ephemerals. The prolific and talented Aleth11 just had to wander into the woods behind her house to behold the sparkle of the truly wondrous Sanguinaria canadensis (that link will take you to the bloodroot profile from my book).

Finally, though there's not a whole lot new to be said about tulips (after moving to the NW, I'm pretty much ready to give them up, except for the unimproved smallest species), TP friend Troye captured a few lovely shots that pretty much tell the story of why they'll always be a market for tulips.

2:17 PM ET | 04-25-2008 | permalink | comments (4) | e-mail post

 

If Dogwoods Made Music...

...what instruments would they be, what songs would they sing?

It's a question that floats along city streets and woodlands this time every year, and an answer that changes with the light and time of day. Sometimes I hear a solo oboe, at other times a Baroque instrumental fugue.

I know this much, it's as loud and sublime as it gets during this busting-out-all-over week I'm spending in D.C. Which reminds me of a few musical moments I collected a few years back; perhaps you'll give them a listen and let me know if they sing for you.

11:29 PM ET | 04-23-2008 | permalink | comments (4) | e-mail post

 

Remind Me, Why Do We Hate Dandelions?

It's a banner year for dandelions around Portland, I don't ever remember them looking so fulsome and jaunty before. They're strewn like wildflowers along parking strips, lawns and empty lots (the few that are left here in Boomtown) and by and large, their arrangements are quite picturesque.

So what's the deal? Why do millions of Americans prefer using 2,4-D to kill them instead of making dandelion fritters and enjoying the show?

No doubt the answer dates back to the heyday of the British lawn, rhapsodized and defended by no less a plant lover than one of my favorite garden writers, Anna Pavord who wrote, "dandelions are bullies. They simply had to go". At least she had the good grace to feel guilty about buying a weedkiller, but buy it and publicize it she did.

Perhaps a later blog needs to throw open the debate on 2,4-D, still very much in ample supply on the garden shelf but so clearly deserving of more consumer dissuasion. But the focus here is on the dandelion itself.

It's been two decades since the New York Times reported on the "weirdo" Maine farmer who canned dandelion greens. Today, there are dandelion cookbooks, dandelion dinners (strictly upmarket), dandelion blogs and in honor of Passover, Jewish dandelion news:

Conveying the misery of the Israelites' slavery, bitter herbs vary from place to place and even from family to family. Ashkenazim favor freshly ground or sliced, fresh horseradish root, bottled horseradish, or romaine lettuce. Sephardim prefer bitter greens such as endive, escarole, chicory, sorrel, arugula, dandelion, or watercress.

Nearing holiness, let us not forget that dandelions make wishes come true. You just have to do is put your lips together and blow. But if you really can't bear them yet know better than to use herbicides (what, me, guilt you?) garden writer Anne Lovejoy suggests you love them to death.

6:51 PM ET | 04-17-2008 | permalink | comments (12) | e-mail post

 

I Sing the Wildflower Blue

Never mind the body electric, mine doesn't seem to much sizzle and sing anymore, but it's no small compensation to have the time, patience and appetite for hanging out with wildflowers which, this very week along the Columbia Gorge, have burst into audacious blues. We're talking a color wave of genera that includes nothing less than lupine (a dozen different species!), forget-me-not, larkspur (a half dozen!) and pools of multi-hued camassia which I most enjoy in bud.

Camas is the Pacific Northwest for many people, certainly for my neighbor's mother who saw fields of them when she arrived in Oregon (a young woman traveling alone from Arkansas) and decided this was where she belonged. And camas has kept untold thousands of indigenous people alive over the millennia, even the not-so-indigenous as described in this excerpt from the Encyclopedia of Northwest Native Plants for Gardens and Landscapes:

On their trek to the west coast, Lewis and Clark saw vast meadows filled with the blue flowers of camas, noting that they looked like lakes in the distance. The hospitable indigenous people rescued the expedition from starvation offering them, among other foods, baked camas bulbs...Humans cannot easily digest raw camas blubs, so they were always cooked first...No matter how they were prepared, poor Meriwether Lewis found the bulbs indigestible, but they helped keep the Corps of Discovery alive...

...unlike the meadow death camas, Zigadenus venenosus, which is also blooming this week. One of my field guides, Wildflowers of the Pacific Northwest notes that much to their later upset, members of the L&C expedition ate this bulb as well.

So, I showed you, now you show me. Natives in the woods, on the roads, by the stream? Post those pix at the Talking Plant Flickr Group and I'll share the best on the blog. If you're not flickr friendly yet, here's how.

1:04 PM ET | 04-15-2008 | permalink | comments (2) | e-mail post

 

Mystery Plant Alert

Little did I know when I grabbed this shot that it would end up making me nuts.

So far, two esteemed colleagues have offered two different opinions about what this native NW perennial is: a forget-me-not relative (think blue) or a composite (think generic yellow daisy). I'm skeptical that these buds will open to yellow; admittedly my first thought was a kind of borage, but now I'm convinced it's not. Can you help?

2:06 PM ET | 04- 9-2008 | permalink | comments (8) | e-mail post

 

An Avalanche of Yellow Lilies

Despite several downpours and hailstorms a day, we've also had ample sunbreaks (I'd never heard that term till I moved to Oregon), which means the forests and mountainsides of the Columbia River Gorge are officially in flower.

The grass widows (formerly known as Sisyrinchium, now split off as Olsynium) are just about done in, but the camassia has yet to begin; larkspur and lupine, except in the odd hot spot, are still playing it safe.

Not so the glacier lilies (aka yellow avalanche lily), no ma'am, no way!!!

In case you've never met, Erythronium is a fabulous genus and a very garden-friendly plant, with lovely, pendulous flowers ranging from white to yellow to pink (not all in one flower, of course). It also comes in species with showy, mottled leaves.

And while I'm making introductions, consider spending a little time with Keith Wiley, one of horticulture's most electric plantsman. Several years ago, Keith visited the Pacific Northwest searching for erythronium. Just an update since he was last here; Keith is longer with The Garden House, but did show up recently in the Royal Horticulture Society Journal.

11:54 PM ET | 04- 6-2008 | permalink | comments (1) | e-mail post

 

Bloom and Bust

First, the bust. Progress of the side yard project, What Would Eve Do?, would thus far indicate that Eve wouldn't do a damn thing, at least not this week. Except perhaps obsess over the budget, or and whether or not her home was worth putting more money into, in which case I'm definitely channeling her energy.

Now the bloom. I only noticed this first one yesterday when I took out the short-tine rubber rake (my favorite tool) and started scraping off winter's brick-thick layer of leaves. Many of you will recognize this flower immediately, but let's give the more easily amused among us a chance to guess.

This lovely plant's complete invisibility in my garden, hiding as it does behind a variegated yellow phormium, is proof enough that it's time to get out the drainage spade and rearrange the perennials. Remind me, somebody, when I replace that beloved, misplaced spade...

And for delicacy #2, I've been watching this upright flower cluster burst open over the last few days. If you love the straight species in this genus as I do, you could i.d. this big-leaved girl from across the block. But that doesn't mean she isn't still a revelation when it comes to flowering shrubs.

4:32 PM ET | 03-13-2008 | permalink | comments (13) | e-mail post

 

F-E-C-U-N-D!

I admit the word doesn't have quite the energy of R-E-S-P-E-C-T — a la Aretha — but I could spell it out and shout it out all the same. After a month in D.C. (and I loved every minute of it), I am back in the Pacific Northwest. This place is moist, lush, dense with smells and is excessively, embarrassingly, unrelentingly fecund!

Having spent a good deal of time in Dumbarton Oaks, I was doggone delirious to walk my own Penninsula Park and discover so many of the same fundamental design strengths: exquisite proportions, elegant paving patterns, bold lines (primarily boxwood), and a strong sense of identity.

On top of that, all the beautifully pruned specimens in the sunken rose garden were breaking bud (leaf bud, that is), and the huge formal fountain was throwing off fireworks of water and light.

Yes, and the sky was dark blue (the cusp of evening), the old-fashioned street lamps were aglow, and the air was swooning with the fragrance daphne. Shrubs of the stuff are tucked throughout the park and as with all daphne, I could smell them without knowing where they were.

Plus, not a soul was in the park but me and the beasts. I still have to pinch myself that I live a few blocks away.

HOWEVER ... as I write from the isolation of an office where my only colleagues are canine, I am now keenly aware of the trade-off ...

AND SO ... given that the great joy of living here is the green of this Northwest world, I am recommitting myself to my long-neglected garden (I had back surgery a year ago and just never made it back into swing).

INTRODUCING: The Great Garden Makeover. Photos, interviews, step-by-step instructions, all here in the weeks to come on TALKING PLANTS! I'm collaborating with a few people and my first meeting is tomorrow, so I'll post notes shortly after.

11:22 AM ET | 03- 3-2008 | permalink | comments (1) | e-mail post

 

Fetid Adder's Tongue, Yum!

It is with some guilt that I will continue to celebrate spring-flowering shrubs and bulbs, knowing that your ground may be not even be close to thawing. But during my stay in DC, I've been corresponding with colleagues in Portland, and was sent a pix of this intriguing native plant by Ed Guerrant, Conservation Director for the Berry Botanic Garden.

Ed, a terrific native plantsman, was featured in a seed bank story for NPR's Climate Connections series. I asked him to pen a few words on this cool California native.

A plant with flowers like these would be noticeable any time of year, but to find the flowers of this reportedly fungus gnat pollinated plant, it is necessary to wander either into its native habitat in Northern California, or make our February homage to a little patch that has been growing at the Berry Botanic Garden for as long as I can remember here at the Garden (1989). It is sort of our Punxsutawney Phil, but without the predictive powers. Nevertheless, Scoliopus in flower it is a harbinger of the spring to come.

So what's popping your wild or cultivated woods? Got winter aconites, snowdrops, crocus, daffs? How about some bold, blueaceous Chionodoxa? I saw one shimmering blue note of this Glory-in-the-Snow at Dumbarton Oaks yesterday, where the chionodoxa are naturalized in the lawn. If you're in or around DC, check back in two weeks for peak bloom.

10:25 AM ET | 02-24-2008 | permalink | comments (1) | e-mail post

 

Gloom Or Bloom?

Rumor has it the bulbs are poppin' in Portland, OR. after a glorious weekend. And there are thousands of little blossoms like the one on the left now blooming at Dumbarton Oaks. So much for the Z7 and Z8 edges of the country what's up in your front yard?

Seedheads of sweet autumn clematis are about it these days for the floral fantasies of some TP members. If you are in need of chlorophyllic support, join the Talking Plants Flickr Group and let us ooow and aaah over your small triumphs.

10:38 AM ET | 02-19-2008 | permalink | comments (7) | e-mail post

 

Amazon: A Reluctant Goodbye

Well, it's time to move on from our week in the Amazon. At least to the exclusion of the rest of the world. No doubt Rosario Costa Cabral and the planet's other inspirational farmers, gardeners and environmentalists will continue to be our guests on Talking Plants.

A few parting shots, if you will; not a whole lot to say, just some photos I have yet to share.

Admittedly, I didn't spend a great deal of time mastering the names and kinds of of Amazon flora (a good reason to go back). Little, in fact, was blooming but on our canoe trip, we did manage a small breakfast bouquet.

But there was no missing the dollop of green that came floating down the river like an emerald island (below). It was water lettuce, a staple of American water features coast to coast. This is a wonderful annual aquatic; seeing it was like running into an old friend.

Perhaps it's enough to know that the places, people and moments we've been visiting in the Amazon are real and possible.

8:15 AM ET | 02- 9-2008 | permalink | comments (9) | e-mail post

 

Plants on Ice

Listen up, friends -- It's now that dead, dried and dessicated flower time of year and we need more TP Flickr Pix friends before some of us get really depressed. We need colors, shapes, lights, action! So skip the holiday shopping (just buy your friends memberships to local enviro orgs, they'll hate you for it), and go snap us some iced flowers and berry frappes...

Truth is we gardeners don't have all that much work to do right now (as if I've done a thing in the last eleven months; this was the Year of the Ruptured Disc), so this is a splendid time to look a bit more closely at things we missed all year, and indulge in the smaller moments that rushed right by during the growing season.

At my place, for instance, it's all about bark and bones -- as in, the dog's soggy stuffed animals and my garden's design bones that are in need of serious chiropractic care.

Winter is also a superb time of year to have a Bad Excuse For A Garden exhibition here on TP...and I know just the "ornamental" cabbage planting I'm going to include. So while you're out walking the dog please scour the neighborhood for any amusing disasters. If I get enough pix that are truly bad enough, I'll put up a show.

12:00 PM ET | 12-16-2007 | permalink | comments (3) | e-mail post

 

What's A Four Letter Word for Procrastination?

It's spelled BULB.

Of course the good news is that I never ordered any, so I'm free and clear. But you folks with vital bulbaceous life in the garage (or the basement, or the trunks of your cars) -- how long is too long?

The question reminds me of the afternoon I spent with a very charming man and rose-crazed gardener, the now-deceased actor, John Spencer (he played Leo on West Wing). Mr. Spencer was featured in a Morning Edition series on Celebrity Gardeners back in 2000.

I've often bought more than I've had time have time to plant. And I'm jonesing to buy some dahlia bulbs. So the question is, will these dahlia bulbs get planted? Or, like some of the bulbs I bought, they bloomed in the bag. And I looked at them guiltily when I pulled the car in coming back from Warner Brothers every night. And they never saw the ground!!

You can hear the entire series at the bottom of this page.

So...no prizes for the best procrastinators among you, but plenty of good company. Check out some of the competition at Garden Rant.

10:18 AM ET | 11-29-2007 | permalink | comments (5) | e-mail post

 

Fernier Than Thou

It all started with an e-mail from the celebrated California horticulturist and landscape designer, Roger Raiche, titled "With Fronds Like These, Who Needs Anemones":

In one of those small triumphs that will never change the world, but which are personally very satisfying, I finally came across a rare variant of a common fern that I had been hoping to find for nearly 25 years now.

I got the e-mail yesterday and once I found a few hours to read it (I jest, but it is the size of a magazine article), I thought of you guys, or shall I say I thought of the bonafide plant freaks among you.

His story is a very simple one. It's about his decades-long search for the native Californian Lyman fern, not because it was rare or endangered -- in fact, it's in the trade -- but because he simply wanted to see it in its native haunts.

It's a story for fern lovers, plant hunters, grail-seekers and hortiholics. If you've got a little down time and words like polypody and pinnae don't scare you, read on...

Continue reading "Fernier Than Thou" »

10:31 AM ET | 11-16-2007 | permalink | comments (3) | e-mail post

 

Author of 'Exodus' Honored by Plant?

Leon Uris (1924-2003) wrote the epic Exodus about the founding of the State of Israel. You probably never read it but you might have seen the movie with Paul Newman, Eva Marie Saint and the ill-fated Sal Mineo (poor guy, a roller coaster ride through Hollywood, then murdered during a botched burglary in his late 30's).

Until the end of the 20th century, I thought author Uris had a plant that was named in his honor: Leonotis leonurus. I figured the change of spelling at the end - from "is" to "us" - was some Latin mannerism.

WRONG.

Leonotis leonurus is a South African mint family member otherwise known as Lion's Tail or Wild Dagga, though I've never heard it called anything but leonotus (leeya NOtice). A valuable medicinal (I think it's particularly popular in South America), the trade calls it a "tender perennial" so you'll still buy it in the hopes that it won't die come winter, but for most of you it's going to be an annual.

I garden in Z8 where my leonotis has been surprisingly reliable year after year. Or it was before Zoe Mae moved in. Alas, she has chosen that exact spot where dear Leon is growing to plant her four padded feet and stare down anything that walks down the street.

This, of course, is unacceptable. Such a plant deserves much, much better, simply incomparable for the late fall garden when everyone but salvia's petered out.

And it's color! Pure, thirst-quenching orange. If you didn't know better, you'd think the plant in full flower was a fake: densely clustered spider-legged whorls of flowers growing in tiers along a square-stemmed stalk.

Check and see what others' experience with this plant has been in your area if you're skeptical, but I can't imagine you'll regret giving it a try. Once upon a time I tried a cultivar named 'Staircase' or 'Ladder' or Giraffe Legs', who the hell remembers, it was a towering 8' but way too lanky.

Stick with Leon's namesake.

12:29 PM ET | 11-13-2007 | permalink | comments (8) | e-mail post

 

Gorgeous, But Heartbreaking. Plants, I Mean.

Scouting around for ways to delight and engage you, I stumbled on a blog entry at Gardening Gone Wild about one woman's love affair with an unfamiliar but very handsome tree. End result: Disaster.

Turns out the tree is one a friend of mine is jonesing for: Robinia pseudoacacia 'Frisia'.

So this got me wondering about the gorgeous plants I've fallen for that I'd NEVER plant again.

My opening bid: A euphorbia named 'Portuguese Velvet', with the nicest euphorbiaceous foliage I've still ever seen.

Four years after ripping it out, I am still pulling out at least 100 seedings/season, AND, I'm now seeing runaways in gardens down the street.

Mea culpa. Though I do still love it. And suspect when it isn't so damn happy, it's perfectly safe to grow.

So, you? Ever been done in/done wrong?

2:39 PM ET | 09-11-2007 | permalink | comments (45) | e-mail post

 

Maypop Memories

The gig's up. The mystery's solved. The Flickr Pix of the Week was Passiflora 'Incense'.

One of this hybrid's parents is commonly known as Maypop, and just about everything I know about the plant -- also known as Passiflora incarnata -- I found out this week from you.

All I'd hoped was to tease out a few passiflora experts with our Talking Plants Flicker Pix of the Week. And I did find a few.

But I'm happy to report I got way more than I bargained for. Click here and you will, too.

For instance: Chris has learned not to kill caterpillars (right, Chris?) because they could turn into Gulf Fritillary butterflies; Jason uses the plant's flowers to make tea; Michelle used to pretend the flowers were ballerinas, with three sets of arms and three heads; and Serene has a recipe for passiflora juice.

In addition: it's the Tennessee state wildflower, it's rich with Christian symbolism, and it does a wicked imitation of that creature immortalized in the 1958 classic, The Purple People Eater.

Finally, I'm aware of at least one person in our community who did NOT use a search engine to come up with the mystery plant's name. Congrats, Tai Haku.

I send you off into the weekend with the maypop memories of a Glasgwegian. Here's the last two stanzas of Where The Passion Flower Grows, by a fellow flower-lover, Charles M. Moore.

Feel your mind exploding
in the heavy scented air
experience the shiver
as you're captured unaware

A little touch of heaven
where imagination flows
the valley in the garden
where the passion flower grows.

10:18 AM ET | 09- 7-2007 | permalink | comments (2) | e-mail post

 

Gotta Problem With Eye Candy?

Here's this week's Talking Plants Flickr Pix winner, a sensational mega-whallop of purple...

This pix was taken by NPR's own Andy Carvin, the best friend a blogger -- and Flickr fan -- could have. After a considerable amount of detective work, Andy was able to identify this species of Passiflora, and now I know the answer, too.

Question is, do you?

2:02 PM ET | 09- 5-2007 | permalink | comments (95) | e-mail post

 

A Plantsman's Xeric Picks

Order in the courtroom, here comes 'da judge ... New Mexico nurseryman David Salman of High Country Gardens ... with xeriscape-friendly plant suggestions for every part of the country.

Need a little context? So sit back, relax, and give a listen to this story.

Here's the key to what will grow where: NE, Northeast; MW, Midwest; IM, Intermountain; GP, Great Plains; S, South; and WC, West Coast.

#1 Agastache rupestris (Licorice Mint Hyssop) NE, IM, GP,WC

#2 Artemisia 'Powis Castle' (Powis Castle Sage) all regions

#3 Centranthus ruber 'Coccineus' (Red Jupiter's Beard) all regions except S.
"A bright red flowered, long blooming European wildflower that thrives in hot, dry conditions".

#4 Ceratostigma plumbaginoides (Hardy Plumbago) all regions.
"Long-lived, permanent groundcover used for its bright blue fall flowers and showy mahogany red fall foliage".

#5 Diascia integerrima 'Coral Canyon'(Coral Canyon Twinspur) all regions except S

#6 Gaillardia aristata 'Amber Wheels'(Amber Wheels Blanket Flower)
"Long-lived wildflower that blooms in summer with huge, frilled deep yellow flowers".

#7 Gaura lindheimeri 'Whirling Butterflies'(Appleblossom Grass) IM, S, WC
"Heat loving wildflower that covers itself with clouds of white four-petaled flowers all summer."

#8 Lavandula x intermedia 'Grosso'(Grosso French Hybrid Lavender) NE, IM, WC
"The most cold hardy French hybrid lavender, it is highly fragrant and blooms in summer with long stemmed dark blue flower spikes."

#9 Panicum virgatum 'Heavy Metal'(Heavy Metal Switch Grass) all regions except S
"A unique selection of Prairie switchgrass valued for its blue-gray foliage and tight, upright growth habit."

#10 Penstemon pinifolius (Pineleaf Beardtongue) all regions except S

#11 Salvia 'May Night'(May Night Sage) all regions
"Outstanding long lived European hybrid that blooms with indigo flower spikes and thrives in all soil types including heavy clay."

#12 Salvia 'Raspberry Delight' (Raspberry Delight Hybrid Bush Sage) NE, IM, GP, S, WC

#13 Saponaria x lempergii (Hybrid Soapwort) all regions except S
"Blooming in late summer with hundreds of large clear pink flowers, this perennial groundcover is an outstanding garden performer."

#14 Verbena peruviana 'Red'(Red Verbena) all regions
"A heat loving, very low-growing Verbena with small deep green leaves and screaming bright red flowers."

#15 Yucca bacata (Banana Red Yucca) IM, GP, WC
"A native succulent valued for its sculptural sword-like evergreen foliage, huge flowering spikes of ivory flowers and large, bird attracting seed pods."

This bud's for you, Dave Salman -- with special thanks to Kerry Kirkpatrick -- for providing Talking Plants with something you don't see much of here, truly useful advice.

12:34 AM ET | 09- 3-2007 | permalink | comments (3) | e-mail post

 

Heavy Metal Hits

Metallic blue is a preposterous color which behaves badly in front of a camera. Which makes the genus Eryngium the naughtiest of them all. So bravo to our Talking Plants Flickr Pix of the Week winner, who we trust did not doctor this photo of Eryngium alpinum -- the so-called alpine sea holly -- posing here in all its impossibly blue-osity.

I find this genus so captivating, its infertile blue bracts (the feathery bits) so ridiculously showy, its color so consistently elusive, and its demeanor so percussive, I thought I'd regale you with a couple more close-ups. Ready, Mr. DeMille?

I'll wait for you while you check out this gorgeous shot also taken in a Swiss meadow but just last year.

Awesome, right?

OK ... let's give the alpine eryngiums a rest, and move on to a different species (stop groaning). Drumroll, please...

What, you're not awed? I'll find your weakness yet.

Maybe it's native plants, in which case, meet the little guy from Kansas, E. leavenworthii. This is one anatomically nice annual. You'll have to tell me whether it works as a garden plant -- maybe in a meadow? -- but at least you Kansans, Texans and Oklahomans get to tiptoe through fields of it in summer.

OK, I'm just about done, but I must point out that even Shakespeare took note of eryngium.

"Rain me eringoes...." says Falstaff of the candied eryngium root. Turns out it was both a celebrated sweet, and an aphrodisiac.

1:55 AM ET | 08-30-2007 | permalink | comments (4) | e-mail post

 

Fragrant Homecomings

If you traveled someplace gorgeous even for a day during this past 4th of July weekend, coming home might have been a drag. Ocean sand swapped for sweaty asphalt; mountain air morphed into the smell of grilling meat (my own personal vegetarian hell). So wasn't I full of gratitude today when, on returning from a shady park, I got out of a hot car onto the hot pavement to be greeted by the sweetest of scents blooming by my back door.

Yes indeed, sweet enough to get a strong whiff all the way in the front garden (admittedly, I do have a small house). Anyway, you get the point; subtle this vine isn't. But when faced with bucolic deprivation, make mine Trachylospermum jasminoides (rhymes with with "whack a low STERNum, sass man BOY tease").

Now here comes the big DUH, particularly if you live in the Southeast or Northwest. I'm talking about the common Chinese star jasmine (doesn't ring a bell? OK, how 'bout Confederate jasmine?). Don't let the plant's common name fool you, though. It may be jasmine-like, but it's not a true jasmine.

And now for the big sigh. This lovely, glossy and well-behaved evergreen vine does not like single-digit temperatures. Perhaps you know better (of course you do, what was I thinking? Please advise). I've noticed that the cultivar 'Madison' is supposed to be hardier, but as we all know, plants don't read. (I crib that line with thanks to Tony Avent.

Caveat: IT'S NOT NATIVE! (once bitten, twice shy) but I've yet to read it's invasive. Just keep it off your trees if you live in Florida, OK?

So, your idea of a plant worth coming home to?

10:10 PM ET | 07- 8-2007 | permalink | comments (13) | e-mail post