A Brazilian at wrong latitudes

Exotic looking with its red petals tinged with dark maroon and edged with green and cream, the parrot flower comes from the hot and humid savannas of Brazil.

Last Saturday, I went to a garden walk through two private gardens in North Seattle. Barely warmed by the thinning rays of sun, we wandered through the winding pathways of the two gardens that had been cultivated and loved for years. They were accordingly full of rarities and mature specimens of many interesting plants, which kept the participants - a group of landscape designers from the Seattle area - busy discussing their respective merits and qualities (of the plants, not the designers...) and possible uses in gardens.

The parrot flower blooms from July to October. The original species can become invasive, but there is a refined Japanese selection with cream-edged leaves that is much easier keep in bay.

One of them caught my eye, even if I really can't explain why. It was the parrot flower, Ahlstroemeria psittacina, a wild species from the Cerrado ecoregion of Brazil. Just looking at the words "Cerrado ecoregion of Brazil" makes me want to embark for a long botanical expedition to those hot and humid plains, said to be the richest savanna in the world. Think about all those flowers under the bright Brazilian sun, weaving through the abundant grasses and gently swaying in the wind.... What a bliss.
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Even the seedpods of the parrot flower look interesting, bursting out amongst the surrounding groundcovers.

Now, I have to confess that red has never really been my color in a garden; I don't think I've ever planted anything pure red in the three gardens I've had so far. But even if these parrot flowers really are a bit too christmassy (in New Zealand, where they are commonly grown in gardens, they are called New Zealand Christmas bells), they looked quite elegant in the garden, picking up colors of the surrounding plants and adding a hint of warmth to the composition. The original species has sometimes a tendency to become invasive, but there is a Japanese selection with refined, white-edged leaves that it much easier to control. An additional bonus is that hummingbirds feed easily from their narrow, tubular flowers, which always is a great feature in a plant. So even if mine might only be a case of projected wanderlust, I am considering planting some parrot flowers somewhere in my current garden...

Embracing the rain...

Quick-silver on Ginko biloba leaves

Didn't someone say that if you can't beat them, join them? So foolish. I've never thought joining one's adversaries is a great idea, however strong they might be. But sometimes one needs to do exceptions, so instead of cursing the ever-present rain, I decided to embrace it. And despite difficulties in keeping my camera dry, there seemed to be something to that old saying, after all.

A magnifying splash on velvety Geranium renardii leaves.

Tradescantias with little drops lining the edges of their leaves; how did they arrange themselves so neatly? 

A Tropaeolum speciosum, climbing nasturtium vine, with a string of pearls. Maybe it wanted to be pretty even after the flowers have faded?

Fuchsias still hanging out there

 Named after one of the great figures of German botany, Leonhart Fuchs (1501-66), there's nothing foxy with the delicate flowers of Fuchsia magellanica var. alba... A favorite in the Victorian England, they look gracefully elegant their shell-pink tutus.

Hardy fuchsias are still blooming with undiminished vigor. Like small lanterns, their flowers hang from  elegantly arching canes, lighting up half-shady parts of the gardens. In this mild climate, many Fuchsia species form large shrubs that feed whole families of hummingbirds throughout their long flowering season from July until the first frosts nip them off in November.
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Hailing from Central and South America (and with a couple of cousins in New Zealand), they look decidedly exotic in the evergreen Pacific Northwest gardens. I don't mind this, even if as a garden plant, I prefer the slimmer species, like the many F. magellanica varieties (the big, colorful cultivars I think look best planted in pots and containers at these latitudes). Their only drawback is that their buds are all too skinny to be popped, which is not a trivial matter, as popping them (secretly) certainly belongs to the joys of childhood that stay forever in one's memory...

Dark, cherry-red berries of Fuchsia magellanica, with color-matching stems.

A plateful of cyclamen, with regret

One of the five, old cyclamen tubers I got from Marian. They all were over 20 cm/ 8 inches in diameter and almost 10 cm/4 inches high, with leaves and flowers sprouting from the top.

Sometimes I just want to kick myself, and hard. Why? Well, two years ago, I got five old, large Cyclamen hederifolium tubers from Marian, a wonderfully talented gardener in my neighborhood who I met briefly just before she moved and left her amazing garden behind. Very fond of cyclamen of any kind, I planted them like delighted squirrel under a weeping old Japanese maple in front of our bedroom window, where I thought I would be able to enjoy their delicate and nodding flowers first thing on drizzly autumn mornings.

A baby tuber beside the old lady; cyclamen thrive in the mild climate of Pacific Northwest and naturalize easily in gardens here.

Last summer I got help with some of the Sisyphean task of weeding this garden. But only now, waiting for some flowers to emerge, did I notice that these hard-handed young guys hadn't cared much of what had stuck into their rakes. They had pulled off four of the five of my cyclamen tubers from the ground and apparently disposed them into the compost bin of their big truck. So now I only have this old lady left, together with a sore conscience for my own laziness. I mean, if you don't do all of your own gardening (which is fine when things get too tedious), how difficult is it at least to mark plants that are dormant? None of that 'everybody makes mistakes' compassion will do today, I'm full pure and clear regret.

Flowers and leaves sprout from woody stems called "floral trunks" on the top of old tubers. They eventually form showy mats of tiny flowers, preferably under large trees.

Marble guardians of Nolhaga

These white marble Guardians by Italian sculptor Stefano Beccari stand in the park of Nolhaga Slott  in Alingsås, Sweden. Like full-length, frozen versions of Giuseppe Arcimboldo's crazy vegetable portrait heads, they stand in the middle of a clearing amongst tall, old beech trees. With their rigid, voluptuously decorated forms, they command one's attention, managing at the same time to look a tiny bit ridiculous, just like real-life guardians with their showy uniforms in front of palaces and castles often tend to do.

Part of a temporary sculpture exhibition until 2012, they are a great addition to this modest but charming little park. I only wish that the park department or whoever is in charge here would have spent more in lawn care. Now weeds and bare patches of worn lawn draw one's attention, when a dark, velvety lawn or a carefully composed planting of perennial grasses would have formed a magnificent stage for these guys, adding a mysterious note to the setting. Still, it is wonderful to see that the authorities of a small town like Alingsås do invest in art, as they did here together with two local art societies. As they say, one cannot live on bread alone.

(PS - Nolhaga Slott means Nolhaga Palace, but this 19th century building is really only a middle-sized mansion).

Pehr Kalm's Sipsalo sold

Pehr Kalm's Sipsalo, the farm where he cultivated seeds from his botanical voyage as a disciple of Carl Linnaeus to North America in 1748-51, was sold in late July to a private owner. Appeals were made for the city of Turku to use its pre-emptive right to buy the property, but this week, Turku City made its final decision of not using this right, and leaving Sipsalo to its new owner. The new owner has expressed interest for the cultural history of the place and will hopefully at least not be doing any harm to the gardens. As is usual with historic places, the buildings are protected, but the garden (or what remains of it) is not.

Despite being overgrown and neglected, some plants from the time of Kalm still grow at Sipsalo, forming a living link to its past. As the only remaining site and garden where Pehr Kalm worked, Sipsalo represents an important piece of history of scientific, cultural and botanical relationships between Finland, Sweden and the United States. With its tight connection with the Linnaean legacy, it is a highly interesting and important site for botanists, garden historians and researchers internationally.

However culturally interested the new owner might be, Turku did lose a major opportunity for research and cultural exchange that otherwise could have taken place in Sipsalo. Sipsalo could have been a center where young and old students could have learned about botany and plants, and about the history of research and science. Exchange of students and researchers from different countries could have taken place here in the spirit of both Kalm and Linnaeus, and as a tribute to their contribution to botany and science. Now this possibility was lost. I truly hope that the new owner understands the value of Sipsalo, so that it will be saved to the future generations.

All posts of the passionate effort to save this 18th century garden for future generations I've been involved in:

Save the forgotten gardens of Pehr Kalm, August 2009
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Sipsalo, again, December 2009
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Late November is Sipsalo, December 2009
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Saving Sipsalo, one small step at a time, December 2010
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Delivered today: an international appeal to save Pehr Kalm's experimental garden in Sipsalo, March 2011 (details of international support and summary of articles up to that date that were published about Sipsalo)
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Still not giving up on Pehr Kalm's Sipsalo... August 2011 (about plants in Sipsalo)

My new little gardening friend...

Milo, our eight weeks old Portuguese water dog came home two days ago. She is interested in just about everything, sniffing and chewing her way through our house and garden. After her exhausting puppy toils, she falls asleep wherever she happens to be. We'll see how much gardening will get done during the next couple of weeks...

Naked ladies, next door

 'Naked ladies', Colchicum autumnale, with Geraniums and Tanacetums in my neighbors garden.

A dear old gardening lady lives just a couple of houses from us, and these luxuriant bulbs are now blossoming against a tapestry of small flowers in her front yard. Her garden is full of carefully planned combinations like this; just look how well the purple-pink petals and sunny stamens of the 'naked ladies' pick up the tones of the delicate purple veining of the Geraniums and the yellow buttons of the Tanacetums. So pretty. While passing, I always think how her garden is so not my style, but I love seeing it anyway. I guess it is the joy of gardening that I enjoy, so evident in everything she does.

My own 'Naked ladies' don't seem to have any lust of showing themselves this year. I don't know what has happened. They produced huge, lush leaves after last season's flowers faded, so I thought they were doing well and ready to bloom again this autumn. But now, nothing. Maybe they would like to have prettier companions around them, like my neighbors do?

You talkin' to me?

Just met this Doll's eyes plant (Actaea pachypoda), staring me down with its crooked little eyeballs at the Bellevue Botanical gardens. Although aesthetically interesting, I still find it a bit creepy; there is something crazy, almost sinister in its expression. And not without a reason; the whole plant is highly toxic, just a couple of berries are enough to cause a cardiac arrest and even death.  Perfect for a garden with a Halloween theme...?

Transplanting wayward Miscanthus babies

While weeding an embarrassingly neglected part of my garden, I just found eight little Miscanthus babies amongst the other thugs. I didn't even know Miscanthus grasses self-seed, and especially not that they just in one season produce sturdy little babies that would perfectly fit a pint sized container.

I'd been thinking of sowing some tall grasses to fill up an area that desperately needs some 'vertical interest', but now I just moved these little guys there, hoping that they'll grow as fast they have until now. There are still several smaller seedlings left that I can add to the group later.

I'm not sure if this is a good decision, or if I will end up with a forest of Miscanthus in a couple of years from now. Still, I just couldn't resist using these cheeky little guys, they just looked so keen on being a part of my garden.