Polygonatum odoratum var. pluriflorum ‘Variegatum’
When we think of autumnal shade in our gardens, we always look to woody plants. It is the season when trees monopolize our attention. In New England and the rest of the northeast, a thriving tourist industry kicks into full swing for three weeks around this time, paying homage to the brilliance of fall foliage. New Englanders pray for the warm days and cool nights which will provide the ideal conditions for a colorful show.
While most of us are looking up at this time of the year, looking down isn’t a bad idea, either. There are many perennials that compete with the brilliance of the trees. I was perusing the gardens two weeks ago admiring some of the best fall performers, and now I’d like to share some of the best fall candidates for the home gardener.
Kristin Schleiter is the NYBG’s Associate Vice President of Outdoor Gardens and Senior Curator. She oversees the wonderful gardening team that keeps our flowering gardens looking top notch, curates the herbaceous gardens and collections, and manages the curator of woody plants. She lives and gardens in Fairfield, CT.
Schizachyrium scoparium
Most of our gardens evolve through the seasons, and I look forward to seeing the next wave of loveliness all spring and summer. It may be November, but we are just coming in to one of my favorite times. Most people think of perennials for their lovely flowers, but many perennials have more to offer—beautiful fall color!
Even as the trees and shrubs are glowing with their fall display, perennials in the garden add their own distinct light. The broad leaves of Penstemon digitalis sing in scarlet and ruby. Graceful, feathery Amsonia hubrichtii ripples with the wind, showing off golden and burnt orange hues. Many of the garden geraniums, most notably Geranium wlassovianum, are simply amazing with their Jacob’s coat of orange, gold, scarlet, and purple. Even hosta—those the deer haven’t eaten, anyway—bring touches of lemon or gold into a shady spot.
As a biennial, parsley comes up in its first year with foliage in full splendor, then it quietly overwinters and flowers the following season. A member of the Apiaceae family alongside dill, fennel, and lovage, parsley’s flowers are beautiful yellow umbels. The foliage in the first year forms a lush rosette which is often what you’ll find in the grocery store. In the second year, when it flowers, the foliage is sparse and elongated.
But despite its versatility and hardiness, parsley is notoriously difficult to grow from seed. I generally recommend that people soak their seeds overnight in lukewarm water to aid in germination. While parsley can sometimes take anywhere from one to six weeks to germinate, the soaking still helps speed up the process.
Two large containers adorn the entrance out by Bedford Gate. Traditionally, we have used the narrow leaf fig (Ficus binnendijkii ‘Alli’) as the centerpiece for these containers. Our specimens are multi-stemmed with long, narrow, lance-shaped leaves. Ficus binnendijkii ‘Alli’ is not as fussy as the ubiquitous weeping fig, Ficus benjamina. It is more tolerant of low light levels and does not have a tendency to drop its leaves when moved.
Our Ficus binnendijkii ‘Alli’ specimens are terrific candidates to under-plant with annuals. In late spring we place the narrow leaf figs into larger pots that provide ample space for seasonal plantings.
The combination for this year’s summer display started with good intentions and then went awry. The errors that were made are common and instructive. We under-planted Ficus binnendijkii ‘Alli’ with the following: angel wings (Caladium ‘Miss Muffet’), English ivy (Hedera helix ‘Green Needle Point’), begonia (Begonia ‘Pink Giraffe’) and coleus (Solenostemon ‘Wasabi’).
We are heading into the final weekend of Kiku: The Art of the Japanese Garden. The show is awash with vivid autumnal color and exotic chrysanthemum blooms in every shape and size imaginable.
For those curious, there are 13 different classes of chrysanthemums. Some of my favorites are the Edo varieties which fall into the last class of mums—Class 13: Unclassified or Exotic. These are the chrysanthemum flower shapes that do not fit into any established category. They often have twisted, bi-color florets that change their shape as they open.
Beyond these, there are many fun and fanciful chrysanthemum flower forms to cover. Chrysanthemums from the Brush and Thistle class look like an artist’s paint brush. Spider mums look like fireworks exploding in the sky. They have long, tubular ray florets that hook or coil at the end. Anemone-type mums have centers that are raised up like a pincushion, and chrysanthemums from the Spoon class have long ray florets with tips that are shaped as their name suggests.
Who doesn’t love a sharer? Not an over-sharer, like Harold in Accounting, whose detailed inquest into his latest digestive afflictions has positively ruined my lunch hour three days running (I’m a horticulturist, not a doctor, Harold…we’ve been over this). No, I’m referring to the sweet woman who makes popcorn and secretly gifts you a handful, or the savior who brings coffee for everyone on Monday morning. And while you won’t even get within visual range of any popcorn or coffee in my possession, I am a prolific sharer of plants, so I do have a few friends left about the office.
Propagating plants can be as painless and satisfying as popping corn, pressing “brew” on the coffee machine, or simply eating lunch outside under a shady tree to avoid Harold. This is especially true of rosette succulents like Echeveria. Often referred to as Mexican Hens and Chicks, these Central and South American species adore sun, tolerate neglect, and exhibit a vast array of captivating leaf forms as well as flower and foliage colors. Truth be told, it’s a painfully easy group of plants to become enamored with and collect. The good news is that propagating and sharing your echeverias is a great way to make someone’s day and assuage the guilt of having spent far too much money on internet plant auctions. Be sure to remind your very patient and understanding spouse that smiles are priceless. PRICELESS.
Jaime Morin is The New York Botanical Garden’s Assistant Curator in horticulture. She works with the plant records and curation teams to help keep the garden’s information on its living collections up to date. She also oversees the details of the garden’s Living Collections Phenology Project.
Beautyberry (Callicarpa japonica)
Autumn is by far my favorite season. I know it doesn’t bring that sigh of relief the first warm day of spring seems to evoke, nor does it allow for long days at the beach or lake. Yet, what it lacks in promised warmth it makes up for in color. As a native New Englander I was brought up with a strong appreciation for bright fall foliage and the joys of falling into a freshly raked pile of leaves. What I didn’t begin to appreciate until I started really looking at plants in my professional life were the bright colors and interesting forms of fruit and seeds that autumn delivers to us. I don’t mean tasty fall favorites like the apple, but the smaller seed carriers that are often missed if you’re not looking for them.
Take a couple of my favorite colorful fruiting shrubs, beautyberry (Callicarpa spp.) and winterberry holly (Ilex verticillata), as examples. Callicarpa have attractive arching branches with demure flowers in early summer, but they shine brightest in fall when dense clusters of vibrant purple fruit cling along the stems creating the late season echo to the pink redbud flowers from spring. Similarly, Ilex verticillata isn’t your typical wall of evergreen holly foliage. By late October this shrub has dropped its foliage and the females are covered with fruit in fiery hues like orange or red.
Last week I wrote about festive fall arrangements, with pumpkins carved open and colorful table centerpieces placed inside them. This week, I will provide a profile of pumpkins and other cucurbits. Pumpkins are in the Cucurbitaceae family and are one of the two oldest food sources in North America (corn is the other). Seeds have been found in caves in Mexico dating back from 5000 to 7000 B.C.
If you peruse the farmers’ markets these days you will find a nice selection of pumpkins. One of my favorites for eating and for decorating is the Long Island Cheese pumpkin or Cucurbita moschata ‘Long Island Cheese’. It makes a great pie. Another exotic counterpart is ‘Musquee de Provence’ which is an heirloom from the south of France.
There is a seasonally appropriate, ghostly white pumpkin named Cucurbita maxima ‘Lumina’ that makes a delicious soup. If you are searching for Cinderella’s pumpkin, it goes by the name of Cucurbita maxima ‘Rouge Vif d’Etampes’, a French heirloom that was introduced into the U.S. in 1883 by the Burpee Seed Company.
As the bounty from the farmers’ markets will attest, fall is a wonderful season for a wide array of other winter squash. One of my seasonal favorites is ‘Delicata’, a sweet squash that has an edible rind and can be sliced and sautéed or baked in the oven. When selecting this squash, choose one that is heavy for its size.
Last week, I discussed the various taros or elephant’s ears (Colocasia esculenta) that we had on display in the Home Gardening Center. What I didn’t mention was that these robust tropical plants with their gigantic floppy leaves and their large round corms can be edible when properly prepared. Taro—or Cocoyam, or Yu Yu Tou—is a popular staple for many cultures.
It is believed that taro is indigenous to India. In Southeast Asia, it was grown near or in rice fields. In ancient times the Greeks and the Romans brought taro to Egypt and the Mediterranean. Spanish and Portuguese explorers then transported it to the New World. It is revered in Hawaii through prayers and takes on many forms in the cuisine. It goes without saying that taro is a globally important food source.
‘Redina’ red leaf lettuce bolts in the heat of summer, setting flowers and then seed to save.
Along with juicy-ugly tomatoes, fresh herbs, and those peppers that made the best hot sauce, gardeners should harvest the seeds from their most prized plants of the growing season. In my Bronx community garden plot, one basil plant is reserved for setting seed, while the others are for eating with Arthur Avenue smoked mozzarella and in-season heirloom tomatoes.
Saving seeds carries on the work of our ancestors, who selected plant varieties using excellent foresight—and their taste buds. An ancient practice dating back to the Stone Age, the first saved seeds were part and parcel in man’s transition from hunter-gatherer to farmer. As plants began to be domesticated, varieties were selected for their flavor, beauty, resilience, and abundance.
