Shrubs

Next in the parade of Shrubs I Love is a weigelia or weigela - spellings differ so whichever you use, people who know better will correct you. I’m hoping someone will tell me which is correct just for the record but honestly, it’s so damn lovely right now I don’t really care.  And why settle for one photo when I’ve downloaded about a dozen?

Since you guys have been patiently teaching me what you want to know about the plants I feature, I’ll start with my notes but feel free to ask questions - I know you will.

Hardy to Zone 5, this and other weigelias need a half-day or more of sun, bloom in late spring and this ‘White Knight’ at maturity is now 4′ tall and 8′ wide.  Definitely drought-tolerant, and requiring minimal pruning.  After six years now, the only pruning it’s received is a little limbing up to keep it off the groundcover.  It just naturally has this lovely arching form.  My pruning book tells me I may eventually have to remove old canes to the ground to rejuvenate it, like I’ve done with the old 10-foot-tall common weigelias that conveyed with my property, a process that worked really well because they grow back so quickly.  And though this one hasn’t needed it, =-generally right after flowering is a good time to thin stems or to cut back "untidy shoots" by half, "keeping the habit of the plant."  Damn right I want to keep the habit.

Bottom line, if this isn’t a high-impact, low-maintenance plant, I don’t know what is. 

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The Mid-Atlantic region may be in full Azaleamania right now but let’s not forget what I’ll modestly call the Queen of Shrubs, the glorious doublefile viburnum.  I was practically forced to buy these plants back in ‘86 when I used the free services of a nursery’s landscape department to create a border between the lawn and the woods; it was February and these guys looked totally unpromising.  But the designer swore by them and I took the leap into unknown plant territory, along with several more of my now-favorites. 

I know the questions are coming, so I’ll hurry to tell you everything I know about them. They’re almost as tall as dogwoods - about 15-18 feet, and bloom at the same time, always white and always in this lovely horizontally reaching form.  Besides watering in newcomers during their first season, the only maintenance required - and it really is required - is annual pruning.  After the blooms fade is the perfect time to remove any stems that cross and crowd others, and most importantly, remove completely one to three of the oldest stems to the ground.  As counterintuitive as this may seem, and I’ve discovered that lots of good pruning practices are just that, it’s the only way to keep the whole plant from becoming top-heavy and increasingly less lovely.

The bottom photo shows, on the right, another doublefile viburnum, or V. opulus V. plicatum tomentosum ‘Shasta’ for the Latin-inclined.  On the left is a V. macrocephalem or snowball-type that’s not my favorite.  Snowballs, mopheads (in hydrangeas) and pom-poms of all types are, I dare suggest, kinda outdated, but go ahead and disabuse me of that notion, pom-pom lovers, because I know you’re out there.  My biggest complaint about it is the tendency for the large flowers to seriously weigh the branches down - not pretty - and my notes on this plant tell me that Henry Dirr - a god in the world of plant experts - recommends hacking it down to 2 or 3 feet every year, which probably solves the problem.  As always, Henry knows his woodies.

A final thought about these photos, especially the top one.  It illustrates a point I’ve been known to harp on - that borders look best when the plants are layered, from large trees to understory trees to shrubs, to perennials, to groundcover.  Not only does it create enclosure and privacy, and therefore create a garden, but it mimics nature’s own design for forests transitioning into meadows, the prototype for our borders-around-lawn.  Interestingly, we humans seem to respond most to nature’s own design, even when it’s a helluva lot of work to create it.  It’s one of many reasons that naturalistic design is so popular and, I venture to predict, will stay that way.

Here’s more, after reading my very first comment:  Damn, I still didn’t say enough.  Excellent question, about when to start removing older stems.  First, I’ve seen lots of these shrubs in nurseries with really crowded stems and in need of a good thinning out, so start there if you have a young one.  That’ll give it a better structure to grow on, and the removal of old stems probably won’t be necessary for the first few years.  Then the first time you get one of those awkward, too-tall stems, remove it completely.

And just one more thing about pruning.  If you happen to have any old,  overgrown and top-heavy viburnum of any type, I’d recommend a severe hacking back of all the stems, to the base or close to it.  I did this to the pom-pom viburnum and it came roaring back with renewed vigor and a much better shape, and reached 2/3 of its original height in one season. Pruning by Peter McCoy - my Bible on the subject -  gave me the courage to try it and it worked. 

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For me, a garden is more about shrubs than any other plant group because A, they fill it up, B, they’re relatively low-maintenance, and C, many of them are gorgeous.  Getting into pruning big-time a few years ago only increased my enjoyment of these plants, as I learned to thin and shape and size my shrubs to enhance their individual beauty, their fit in the spots I’d planted them, and their overall health.  I even had a Hort Club presentation here once with a wonderful Master Gardener named John Hartmann which consisted of recommending our favorite shrubs and generally conducting a lobby session/love-in for them.  And a shrub I’ve recommended many times that I’ve now decided to banish from my garden for poor performance (sorry!) is the leucothoe. Allow me to make the case for banishment.

Exhibit 1 is, I believe, a ‘Rainbow’ or variegated leucothoe that looks SO, SO gorgeous when the foliage is perfect but which usually looks mangy and covered in leafspot.  This one and two more like it were moved to the woods last season because they were getting too much sun where they were, but they came through the winter looking terrible, so I’m concluding they also don’t like winter.  (Me, either, but I don’t get all diseased over it.) 

Exhibit 2 is, I believe, ‘Scarletta,’ which has solid dark green foliage.  It’s looking a lot better than the variegated type-  no surprise - but almost as scraggly and a bit diseased. 

Now as I’m looking in my handy red Garden Book, about which I lectured to you in an exasperated tone last fall, I see all sorts of useful information I’d refused to acknowledge about these shrubs.  To wit: "Fickle in landscape.  Vulnerable to fungal leafspot, esp. when stressed.  Prefers acid soil."  And what should have been the clincher:  "Not drought-tolerant," with the underlining in the original.  But I loved it as an evergreen for shade with a lovely cascading shape, so I needed to be hit over the head and forced to stop buying the damn things, and the blow finally came recently when I heard a shrub expert talk at Benkes Nursery.  He veered diplomatically away from calling it a difficult plant but recommended "even moisture," and honestly, I’m not a careful enough gardener to make that happen throughout the year.  And who is?  I know I’m not alone in refusing to coddle difficult plants any longer.  We’ve entered the age of Tough Love in Gardening and I say it’s about time.  Difficult plants are just too hard on the gardener, not to mention on Nature.   Drought-tolerance is right up there with disease-resistance as must-have features, and leucothoes fail on both counts. 

And here’s the real heartbreaker.  This solid lime green Leucothoe Florida  was my favorite of the three and because it’s not variegated, I thought it had a real chance, assuming I kept it shaded.  No problem, until I removed the now-infamous Bradford pear shading it.  So in this total rearrangement of one whole side of my garden (stay tuned for the "after" pics in a week or so) I had to move it, and here it is between the Adirondacks getting way too much sun. I clearly haven’t accepted the inevitability of its demise yet because I’ll be moving it again this weekend.

Which raises another feature in the life of the gardener - continually moving plants. Is the solution to put our plants on rollers for their first decade, just for convenience?  Or is moving this plant yet again just part of my journey,  another humbling lesson in a lifetime of humbling lessons that go with the territory? So be it.  I like the territory.

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Why my neighbors’ Hydrangea quercifolia ‘Snow Flake’ is so colorful  is beyond me.  My own unnamed oakleaf goes right from green to brown.  Maybe it’s those hot hort researchers again, making our favorite plants better.

But while I’m at it, let me sing the praises of all oakleaf hydrangeas, no matter the coloration.  Talk about your can-do plant.  Full sun to full shade - no problem.  Pruning?  Not needed.  Unlike almost all hydrangeas, it’s not particularly thirsty.  And whether as lone accents or massed as they are here, they’re spectacular in three seasons. 

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I’m warning you.  If you plant this shrub an officious person will someday tell you it’s pronounced "Winterter."  It happened to me and I wasn’t amused, but apparently it’s true.  I say WHO CARES?

The point is this is a great plant and I highly recommend it.  First, it’s a handy size - full-grown at 4 by 4 feet - and never needs pruning.  I swear.  You see what gorgeous fall color it has.  Now check out the berries.  And naturally, its blossoms are equally gorgeous.  Supposedly, it prefers morning sun but here it gets our brutal afteroon sun and does just fine.  I give it supplemental watering in droughts but other than that, it’s carefree.

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Pedestrian traffic, that is. This beauty berry (Callicarpa dichotoma) planted along the street is attracting more attention than the blooms of summer ever did.  Early in the season it didn’t look like much but from now into the winter, this guy’s a winner.  I’ll be on the look-out for some bird action.

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Announcing the latest addition to my garden family, a 4-foot tall ‘Hollywood’ juniper, ready to assume the centerpiece spot in my newly expanded border.  Like other bundles of joy, it’s been anticipated for many months, which is how long it took to arrive at a nursery in the vicinity (only $49 at Merrifield’s in No.Va.). 

Now to brag on it a bit.  This photo from the Web shows how it might look when it grows up - very sculptural.  Its multiple stems twist every which way and just look cool as hell.  And coming off a 10-week drought as we are in these parts, the amazing drought tolerance of junipers makes them especially welcome.  Lately I’ve come to appreciate junipers, however plebian they may be, for their incredible variety and sheer toughness.  The way I figure it, when the heat is on and the rain don’t fall, it’s no time to get all snobbish.

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Just one more thing about lespedezas. There’s one in this photo just starting to emerge in front of the azalea, still short enough not to block my view of the azalea when it’s blooming.  Now I bet you all know what happens to the azalea next - it holds onto its ugly dead flowers for a good 6 weeks before finally dropping then, after which it just looks boring the rest of the year.  But here’s a solution.  The lower photo shows the same spot in September with the lespesdeza now tall and blooming in front of it. I love this plant combo.

Now I don’t know about where you live but here in the Azalea Belt, my occasional dissing of azaleas doesn’t win me any friends.  My town’s nickname is "Azalea City" - oh, dear.  Many residents have nothing but azaleas, even in full sun.  So I’m constantly pushing alternative shrubs (or companions to azaleas) like pieris, nandina and leucothoe - my favorite shrubs for the shade.  For sunny spots I suggest a combination of evergreens and such flowering beauties as spirea, weigela, and small viburnums.  Come on, people, let’s at least diversify.

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Check out this beauty, the Lespedeza "Gilbralter," finally blooming.  I first eyed it at Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, a whole hedge of them between a large home and the beach road.  There being no one around, I took down the address and wrote them a letter asking what it was and enclosing a SASE.  Months went by and I’d concluded these gardeners were atypically unhelpful when finally I got a reply from their landscaper.  I should have known.

Anyway, I was happy to get my answer and I’ve been enjoying it and getting beaucoup compliments ever since.  You can see its lovely cascading form but what’s particularly interesting is that it’s a nonwoody shrub.  In other words, it dies completely to the ground every winter, only to grow five feet tall again the next season.  But as a  local landscaper once warned me, don’t even think about ever moving one after it’s full grown.

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