November Work: Cutting Down the Meadows

Last week, I performed what has become for me a ‘rite of November’: cutting down the meadows at our cottage on Lake Muskoka, a few hours north of Toronto. I have to admit, it isn’t my favourite chore of the year, though I acknowledge I don’t actually have a lot of “chores” up there, given the naturalistic way I garden. But it’s definitely the most labour-intensive – amidst the least pleasant weather conditions of autumn, as it usually turns out. This year it was blowing a gale as I assembled my wardrobe and tools:  hedge shears, rake, cart, bundling cloth and ropes, rubber boots, extra layers under my waterproof jacket and fleece band to keep my ears warm. I started out with the big bluestem (Andropogon gerardii), the tallest of my prairie grasses, at 7 feet with its turkey-foot flowers. Considering it’s growing in shallow soil atop the ancient rock of the Canadian Precambrian shield, rather than the deep loam of the tallgrass prairie where its roots can extend far down, I think it’s rather happy at the cottage, and I took a selfie of us together before I chopped off its head!

Janet Davis-Lake Muskoka-Big bluestem in the meadow

Since my meadows and beds likely measure only about 1600 square feet or so, it’s not a lot to hand-cut with the hedge shears. People wonder why I don’t use a string trimmer, but I find that holding the weight of a trimmer just above ground is harder on my back than bending over and chopping the stems manually. I understand you can buy a harness for the trimmer, so that might be an improvement – but there’s something hypnotically satisfying about working with the shears.

Shears-cutting big bluestem-Lake Muskoka

As I work, I rake and pile the stems into windrows near the cart where I’ll eventually pack them up into bundles to carry by hand up the hill behind the cottage to a place out of sight where they can break down.

Cottage meadow-Lake Muskoka-November 15

If I don’t cut the meadows, the heavy snows of winter will soon bend down the grasses and forb stems, but the thatch that accumulates makes it less attractive for self-seeding wildflowers and daffodils emerging in spring. So if I want the scene below in mid-summer, it pays to prepare for it by cutting old growth.

Cottage meadow-Lake Muskoka-July 31st

And if I leave the switch grass (Panicum virgatum) standing after it turns colour in fall….

Switch grass-October-Lake Muskoka-fall colour

…. it will look like this in May.

Switch grass-May 15-Lake Muskoka-uncut

So I remove all the above ground growth in November.

Switch grass-November 15-Lake Muskoka-after cutting

And if I’m travelling during this late autumn window (as we have on a few occasions), the daffodils will still come up in the meadow the following spring, but it’s a bit of a struggle.

May 15-Big bluestem-Lake Muskoka-uncut-daffodils

In short, if I want this…..

Cottage bed & Orienpet Lily-July 31-Lake Muskoka

…I have to do this.

Cottage bed-November 15-Lake Muskoka

And if I want this…..

View of path-Lake Muskoka-July 31

….I have to do this.

View of path-Lake Muskoka-November15

I could hold off on the cutting until late winter or very early spring, when the ground is still frozen (as I do in my city meadow), but timing doesn’t always work that well up here and a fast thaw means I’m cutting on mucky soil. And since most of the seed-eating birds have flown south and those that remain seem adept at picking up seed from the ground, I’m happy to clear out this…..

Path through meadow-Lake Muskoka-November15

…. in order to enjoy this next summer.

Path through meadow-Lake Muskoka-July15

Beyond the chores of this month, I love the varied browns of November. I’ve even blogged about Beguiling Brown in the Garden. And I enjoy inspecting all the seedheads as the plants complete their life cycles. Plants like showy goldenrod (Solidago speciosa), its white panicled seedheads shown below alongside the charcoal autumn foliage of false indigo (Baptisia australis). (Incidentally, though these plants flower at the opposite ends of summer, they’re among the best for bumble bee foraging.)

Seedheads-Solidago speciosa & Baptisia australis-November

Here is the candelabra-like seedhead of culver’s root (Veronicastrum virginicum) with the ubiquitous button-like seedheads of wild beebalm (Monarda fistulosa).

Seedheads-Veronicastrum virginicum & Monarda fistulosa-November

Those seedheads above, of course, are proof that the attractive summer flowers, shown below, attracted the pollination services of the appropriate wild bees.

Flowers-Veronicastrum virginicum & Monarda fistulosa-summer

And the late summer-autumn season has also allowed the various grasses to shine, below, including – apart from the big bluestem – Indian grass (Sorghastrum nutans) and switch grass (Panicum virgatum).

Big Bluestem & Indian grass-Lake Muskoka

November is the perfect time for dormant seeding native wildflowers, so as I’m chopping the stems, I also do some fast sowing into the meadows, using my boot toe to kick little bare spots into the soil, then grinding some of the seeds just below the surface, while leaving others exposed. I do this with New York ironweed (Vernonia noveboracensis), below.

Fall seeding-New York Ironweed-Vernonia-Lake Muskoka

Chopping, raking, piling, carrying. Chopping, raking, piling, carrying. After a good day-and-a-half in blustery wind and intermittent cold rain, I manage to take 8 tied bundles of stems up the back hill to a spot on top of the pile of blast rock that was cleared when we built our home here on this waterbound peninsula 16 years ago. In time, the vegetation will decompose amidst the staghorn sumac pioneers and create a more complex meadow planting here.Compost pile-Lake Muskoka

Finally, as I finish washing out the cart, coiling the garden hoses, cleaning my tools, bringing everything indoors and preparing to drive back to the city in the waning light of the third day, I gather up a handful of the stems I’ve put aside in my cutting. Because apart from enjoying vases filled with summer flowers in July…..

Bouquet-July meadow flowers-Lake Muskoka

….. it feels virtuous, somehow, to accord these plants the same respect in November.

Bouquet-November meadow seedheads-Lake Muskoka

To capture a little of the atmosphere of what it’s like to perform this task in November, I’ve made a short video to enjoy here. (Please excuse the wind – it was impossible to find quiet moments.) The good news? My back and I are still on speaking terms!

 

Winter Bark & Bough: A Valentine to Trees

In my part of the world, winter often seems like a time that nature has forgotten. Frozen earth, dirty snow, leafless tree boughs except for the evergreens – a subdued landscape of grey, brown and white. Yet there is life teeming deep in the soil under that snow and spring beckons just months away.  And there is majesty in the skeletal architecture of trees. While returning to Toronto from our cottage on Lake Muskoka one late afternoon recently (and, I hasten to add, I was in the passenger seat), I clicked my camera at tree vignettes flanking Highway 400, the major north-south route linking the city to cottage country and beyond. Forest, farm field, windbreak, granite outcrop… all stood out in moody relief against the January sky.  Photographing at 70 miles an hour doesn’t give sharp results, but as a low-resolution mosaic, it’s a beautiful way to appreciate the winter landscape and the skeletons of trees.

Winter Tree skeletons-Highway 400-Ontario

With winter hanging on for five months or more in Toronto, the architecture of trees becomes an important consideration in garden design. Since I’m a bit of a tree geek, I pay attention to those things, and thought some of my blog readers might share my enjoyment. So here is a roster of hardy shrubs and trees with distinctive winter bark and branching, arranged by botanical name. It’s…um….quite comprehensive — let’s just call it an “encyclotreedia”. Or, given the date, perhaps we can call it a Valentine to Trees. And please note, this is not a recommendation list, merely a photo guide to many dediduous species, native and non-native, well-behaved or potentially invasive. Almost all were photographed in Toronto’s Mount Pleasant Cemetery, the 200-acre arboretum I am so very fortunate to have less than a mile-and-a-half from my home, a place in which I’ve been photographing flora for 20 years.

Acer davidii – Pere David’s Maple: This maple represents one of the hardiest of the beautiful snakebark maples. Its bark is olive-green with silvery vertical stripes intercut with small horizontal, green lenticels. In time, the bark changes to striped light-brown. A beautiful, small, multi-stemmed tree that grows to 30-40 feet (9-12 metres) or so and colours nicely in autumn. Sadly, the one I know has developed sun scald on its exposed flank, but seems to hang on despite the gaping splits in the trunk.

Acer davidii-Pere David's maple-winter trunk

Acer griseum – Paperbark Maple:  I grow this lovely, small, Asian maple in my own garden, regrettably out of my sight line in a side-yard where I cannot appreciate the gorgeous exfoliating bark on its slender red trunk, especially in winter against the snow.  Paperbark maple matures somewhere between 20-30 feet (6-9 metres) with a lovely, vase-shaped form.  Trifoliate leaves turn scarlet in fall.

Acer griseum-Paperbark maple-winter-bark

Acer pseudoplatanus – Sycamore Maple: The Latin name of this large (75-90 feet, 23-27 metre), short-trunked Eurasian maple means “false plane tree”, and its leaves and exfoliating grey-brown bark do bear some resemblance to the American sycamore and Oriental plane tree of the genus Platanus. But like all maples, sycamore maple has opposite branching, unlike alternate-branched plane trees, and its fruit is a samara rather than the spherical “buttonball” fruit of plane trees.  The confusion is heightened by the common name “sycamore”, applied to both the maple and American plane tree or sycamore which derives from the Greek word “sykomoros”, meaning fig-mulberry. But it is thought to refer to a large Middle Eastern fig called Ficus sycamorus, an ancient tree mentioned in the bible; thus the word later became generic for “shade tree”.

Acer pseudoplatanus-Sycamore maple-winter bark

Acer rubrum – Red Maple:  This native tree starts out with smooth, light-grey bark, as with the wonderful fall-colouring Acer rubrum ‘Morgan’, below…..

Acer rubrum 'Morgan'-red maple-young bark

….. before developing its rough, scaly, dark bark later in life, when it can be as tall as 90 feet (27 metres) in wide-open areas, but likely already nearing the end of a life that averages 80 to 100 years.

Acer rubrum-red maple-bark-winter

Acer saccharinum – Silver Maple: We once had a tall, majestic silver maple on the boulevard in front of our house in Toronto, and I counted the rings when the city came to cut it down in 1996.  There were 81, which meant it had been planted when our house was built, around 1915. Its bark and bearing at that age looked like the silver maple below: long, narrow strips of medium grey, many fallen off, and the main trunk dividing into sub-trunks before flaring into elegant limbs on high.  I still miss it.

Acer saccharinum-silver maple-winter-bark

The upper bark of the silver maple is produced in sheet-like plates, something like the bark that the hairy woodpecker is attacking in my video made in Mount Pleasant Cemetery, below.

Acer saccharum – Sugar Maple:  Who hasn’t stood under a sugar maple in autumn and gazed in awe at the sunset array of fall colours, below?  It’s in winter when we notice the dark, furrowed, sometimes curling bark of the trunk leading up to the widespread crown, the massive canopy often missing brittle limbs in old age.  And, of course, just below that furrowed bark is the xylem tissue that scarcely waits until winter’s last gasp before drawing up sweet sap from the thawing soil – sap that turns into delicious maple syrup in the right hands.

Acer saccharum-sugar maple-winter-bark

Sugar maple is the quintessential fall-colouring tree in eastern North America.

Acer saccharum-Sugar maple-fall colour

Aesculus flava – Yellow Buckeye:  When young, yellow buckeye’s bark looks smooth and grey, like beech bark.  As the tree ages to its mature 50-70 feet (15-21 metre) height, its bark develops scales and loose plates.  The tree below developed sub-trunks a short distance from the base.

Aesculus flava-yellow buckeye-winter-bark-trunk

Aesculus hippocastanum – Horsechestnut:  There isn’t much remarkable in the scaly, ridged bark of a mature horsechestnut trunk. What is spectacular is the oval crown and the branches that hang down from 100 feet (30 metres) or so, as if anticipating the weight of those big, beautiful, white flower panicles in June……

Aesculus hippocatanum-horse chestnut-winter

….. and, of course, the plump, sticky, terminal winter buds that look like they were shellacked, and can scarcely wait to burst open on the first warm days of spring.

Aesculus-hippocastanum-horse chestnut-winter bud

Ailanthus altissima – Tree of heaven:  This Chinese tree is such a successful weedy invader throughout North America, where it was once grown as a street tree,  its clones, suckers and self-seeded saplings pop up in cracks in the pavement and untended lots everywhere. It is more likely to be described as “tree of hell” than its normal common name.  Fast-growing, it matures at 60-80 feet (18-24 metres), its bark green and smooth on young trees, but grey with rough furrows on older trees.  Tree of heaven gained notoriety in 1943 when it was featured as the central metaphor in the Betty Smith novel A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

Ailanthus altissima-tree of heaven-winter bark-trunk

Alnus incana – European grey alder: Look up from the smooth, lenticel-engraved bark of grey alder in winter, and you’ll see the remnants of last summer: the little black, seed-bearing, female cones. Grey alder grows naturally in damp soil, but is also tolerant of dry soil. It can reach 50 feet (15 metres).

Alnus-incana-grey alder-winter bark

Betula alleghaniensis – Yellow birch: If you see yellow birch in winter with its shiny, peeling bark and horizontal lenticels , you’re forgiven for thinking you’ve stumbled upon a beautiful cherry. For that’s what a young yellow birch resembles.  It grows to 75 feet (23 metres) in ideal conditions.

Betula alleghaniensis-yellow birch-trunk-bark-winter

Betula ermanii – Erman’s birch: Though quite variable in appearance, Erman’s birch or Russian rock birch can have creamy-white bark like paper birch or resemble native river birch, in that older trees develop peeling, shredded bark in brown, gray, orange and white. Often multi-stemmed, Erman’s birch matures at around 60 feet (18 metres).

Betula ermanii-Erman's birch-bark-trunk-winter

Betula lenta – Cherry birch, Sweet birch:  I love this native birch, which should be grown much more than it is. The wood is used for furniture and flooring. The bark starts as a reddish-brown, turns dark gray, then develops thin scales as it ages. It grows to 50-60 feet (15-18 metres) in favorable conditions.

Betula lenta-cherry birch-winter bark

In autumn, cherry birch with its apricot orange leaves is an exquisite part of the fall color parade.

Betula lenta-Cherry birch-autumn color

Betula nigra – River birch:  As the name suggests, this is a tree for damp places, but not small places. When happy, it can reach 70 feet (21 metres), often multi-stemmed, its bark flaked with a patchwork of cream, buff, apricot and brown papery scales.

Betula nigra-river birch-winter-bark

Betula papyrifera – Paper birch: Don’t we all have a special place in our hearts for the paper birch? Even with its insect enemies – the bronze birch borer, birch leafminer – don’t we all think romantically of Robert Frost’s Birches? That shimmering white bark, the black hawk-eyes winking from the trunk, the leaves fluttering like tiny golden flags in autumn.

Betula papyrifera-paper birch-winter-bark-trunk

Paper birch grows to 70 feet (21 metres), often multi-stemmed; its brown park with pale lenticels eventually turns white.  Indeed, as Robert Frost once wrote, one could do much worse than be a swinger of birches, like the ones shown growing with hemlocks on the road behind my Lake Muskoka cottage.

Betula-papyrifera-birches-winter-Robert Frost

Betula utilis var. jacquemontii – White-barked Himalayan birch: Many experts consider this to be a finer landscape alternative than our native paper birch. Selected forms have shimmering-white bark on a slender, often multi-stemmed tree that reaches 30-40 feet (9-12 metres). Sadly, it is also susceptible in time to the bronze birch borer.

Betula jacquemontii-Himalayan birch-winter bark

Carpinus caroliniana – Blue beech, American hornbeam: This lovely little understory tree is at least as wide as it is tall (20-30 feet, 6-9 metres), with muscled grey bark (another of its common names is ‘musclewood’) and a fluted trunk. It’s one of my favourite northeastern natives, with delicate, birch-like leaves that turn orange in fall.

Carpinus caroliniana-Blue Beech-Winter-Bark

Carya cordiformis – Bitternut hickory:  When young, this tree’s bark is smooth and grey; as it matures to a height of 100 feet (30 metres) or more, the bark develops wavy ridges and regular vertical furrows.  Bitternut hickory lives about 200 years and its durable wood is used for furniture.

Carya cordiformis-bitternut hickory-winter-bark

Carya ovata – Shagbark hickory:  One of my favourite trunks to photograph, so illustrative of its common name. As a young tree, this hickory’s bark is grey and smooth; as it matures to over 120 feet (36 metres) in height   metres), the bark breaks into long, vertical plates which adhere to the bole in the middle while the ends curve away and produce the ‘shaggy’ look.  It is long-lived, to 300 years or more and produces edible nuts.

Carya ovata-shagbark hickory-winter bark

Castanea dentata – American chestnut:  There are precious few of these iconic trees left in North America, but Mount Pleasant Cemetery has a number of small specimens, their sawn upper limbs a clue to the introduced chestnut blight that decimated the North American population in the early 20th century.  A Carolinian species native to the northern shore of Lake Erie, it once grew to lofty heights of over 100 feet (30 metres), but is now seen in the wild as small sprout trees from dead stumps. The trunk on the smallish tree below with its interlaced furrows and ridges indicates its old age; young bark is smooth and chestnut-brown.

Castanea dentata-American chestnut-winter bark

Castanea mollissima – Chinese chestnut: A small-medium sized tree growing to about 40 feet (12 metres) with an open canopy and wide-spreading branches, Chinese chestnut is resistant to the chestnut blight that kills American chestnut. Like the tree below with its brown, ridged bark, foliage is marcescent, with leaves often persisting on the tree throughout winter. It produces edible nuts (though not the delicacies of the sweet Spanish chestnut) and is currently the subject of experiments to produce a viable hybrid with the American chestnut.

Castanea mollissima-Chinese chetnut-winter-bark

Catalpa speciosa – Northern catalpa:  Of all the sylva of the American forest, Northern catalpa is the most tropical in appearance, with purple-splotched white flowers held in big panicles.. Though native to a relatively small swath from Kansas south to Texas and east to Louisiana, it is a remarkably hardy tree and thrives in Toronto (USDA Zone 5, like Chicago). It’s bark is grey-brown with shallow fissures and its crown is irregular with masses of crooked branches that give it a witchy appearance. However, certain trees, interestingly, develop a tall, narrower profile than the one below.

Catalpa speciosa-northern catalpa-winter

Celtis occidentalis – Hackberry: This is one of those nondescript, native trees (to 60 feet – 18 metres) that nonetheless proves its worth as a pollution-tolerant choice for city streets. Its bark is smooth and greyish when young, but as it matures it develops corky wart-like bumps that form wavy, vertical ridges.

Celtis occidentalis-hackberry-bark-winter

Cercidiphyllum japonicum – Katsura: This most elegant of Asian trees has bark that starts out smooth, but later splits into thin, papery strips as it grows (often multi-stemmed) to a height of 30-40 feet (9-12 metres) or more.  Its senescing, heart-shaped leaves produce maltose, which in the right conditions produces a burnt sugar aroma as one walks near them in autumn.

Cercidiphyllum japonicum-katsura-bark-winter

Katsura is a dioecious species, meaning there are male and female trees. In winter, the remnants of last summer’s fruit pods often decorate the canopy of a female katsura tree.

Cercidiphyllum japonicum-Katsura-female-capsules-winter

Cladrastis kentukea – Yellowwood : This is a favourite tree of mine when it deigns to flower in late spring or early summer with masses of pendulous, wisteria-like, white flower clusters (below) – an auspicious event that happens once every 3 or 4 years, if you’re lucky! It’s native to the southern U.S. but hardy here in Toronto, though subject to sunscald in winter.  Bark is smooth, grey and beech-like on a small-medium tree reaching 30-50 feet (10-15 metres).

Cladrastis kentukea-Yellowwood-winter-bark

The spectacular, cascading flowers of the yellowwood aren’t produced every year, but they are a beautiful sight when they are, as here in Toronto’s Mount Pleasant Cemetery.

Cladrastis kentukea-Yellowwood-flowers

Cornus mas – Cornelian cherry:  One of my favourite shrubs or small trees, quite likely because its bright-yellow umbel flowers are among the very first to bloom in late winter or early spring. This dogwood, native to Europe and western Asia,  reaches 20 feet (9 metres) tall and almost as wide, and has the prettiest mottled tan-and-cream bark on its slender trunk(s).

Cornus mas-Cornelian cherry-winter-bark

Cornus sanguinea – Common European dogwood – There are shrubs, of course, that boast brilliant winter bark, and none is more beautiful than the selections of European dogwood that celebrate the cold ‘midwinter’. This is ‘Midwinter Beauty’, below, but ‘Midwinter Fire’ is just as brilliant, with blazing sunset colours against a snowy landscape.  Be sure to cut back your Cornus sanguinea in early spring in order to guarantee bright stem colour from the new growth in the following winter.

Cornus sanguinea-'Winter Beauty'-dogwood

Cornus sericea – Red-osier dogwood: Though it might be common and a little old hat by now, the red canes of the new growth of ultra-hardy red-osier dogwood are always luminous in the winter garden. But do remember that you need to cut back the older canes in late winter or early spring, in order to encourage the bright-red colour of the new ones for the following winter.

Cornus sericea-red winter stems

Cornus sericea ‘Flavamirea’ – Yellow-twig dogwood: I love the golden canes of yellow-twig dogwood in winter; they add a little pool of sunlight to an otherwise barren spot. Left unpruned, this dogwood can reach 8 feet (2.4 metres), but as with red-osier dogwood, its brilliant colour is produced on new growth, so an annual cutting-back in late winter or early spring is necessary to ensure a good show.

Cornus sericea 'Flavamirea'-gold winter stems

And in case you’re wondering what to plant beneath those lovely golden stems, how about a sea of blue-flowered Siberian squill (Scilla siberica)?

Cornus sericea 'Flavamirea' & Scilla siberica

Corylus colurna – Turkish filbert or hazel:  A refined, pyramidal shape, relatively small stature (around 45 feet or 14 metres tall in colder regions) and problem-free demeanor often result in this tree being recommended for use in small gardens. It produces small, edible, but non-commercial nuts; however, its hardiness makes it a good rootstock for orchard species of filbert and hazel. In winter, below, the light brown, corky, flaking trunk and bark are quite attractive.

Corylus colurna-Turkish filbert-winter-bark

Fagus grandifolia – American beech:  This beloved, stately native of our northeast forests is under attack from beech bark fungal disease, which is vectored by an introduced European scale insect feeding on sap and ultimately leads to formation of a canker that causes severe die-back.  I cannot imagine what the deep woods behind our cottage on Lake Muskoka would look like without the muscled, grey bark and stout trunk of the American beech, below.

Fagus grandifolia-American beech-winter-bark

Fagus sylvatica – European beech: – A beautiful tree with a commanding presence, up to 90 feet (27 metres) tall,  and many cultivars that feature pyramidal or weeping shape and colourful leaves.  Sadly, the same beech bark disease (BBD) as occurs on native beeches is also claiming mature European beeches, like the magnificent copper beech (Fagus sylvatica ‘Cuprea’) shown below.

Fagus sylvatica 'Cuprea'-copper beech-winter-bark

Fraxinus pensylvanica – Green ash:  If there are any healthy native ashes left standing in North America after the reign of terror of the emerald ash borer, their trunks will look something like the one below, with its grey, ridged, corky bark. (Speaking personally, we lost our ash to EAB a few years ago, and most other ashes in Toronto will be removed in time.)

Fraxinus pensylvanica-green ash-winter bark-trunk

Ginkgo biloba – Maidenhair tree: As distinctive as the fan-shaped leaves of this stately deciduous conifer are – and luscious yellow in autumn – the brown bark is also attractive, with deep furrows and raised ridges. In winter, you can look up into the crown of a ginkgo and see the short spurs bearing the axial winter buds lining the bare branches.

Ginkgo biloba-maidenhair tree-winter-bark-spurs

Gleditsia triacanthos var. inermis – Thornless Honey locust: I am told that if you look carefully at the branching of a thornless honey locust, you’ll see a distinctive zigzag pattern to the growth of the twigs. The bark on young trees is a smooth olive-brown; as the tree ages, it becomes grey, fissured and flaky, often revealing the red under-bark. This form has a lack of vicious thorns, which distinguishes it from the main species. The elegant canopy created by the fine-textured foliage of honey locust has resulted in it being selected for cultivars like ‘Shademaster’, ‘Moraine’ and ‘Sunburst’. Sadly, honey locusts are subject to disease and insect pests.  And despite being called “honey locust”, they’re not much visited by bees; the name actually derived from the sweet pulp within the seedpods.

Gleditsia triacanthos-var. inermis-thornless honey locust-winter

Gymnocladus dioicus – Kentucky coffeetree – The Latin name Gymnocladus means “naked branch”, and describes the tree’s propensity for leafing out late and dropping its leaves early in autumn, thus leaving naked branches for most of the year. “Dioicus” describes its reproductive strategy, dioecy, meaning male and female flowers are borne on separate trees. On the ‘species at risk’ list in Ontario, Kentucky coffeetree once grew abundantly in southwest Ontario at the northern limit of its native range. But trees in Toronto do very well, and male trees (more desirable because of the huge, rattling seedpods of female trees) are available in the city’s Urban Forestry boulevard tree-planting program. The scaly bark is grey-brown and fissured on trees that reach 50-80 feet (24 metres) at maturity.

Gymnocladus dioicus-Kentucky coffeetree-winter bark-trunk

Those lush Kentucky coffeetree leaves, incidentally, are doubly compound or ‘bipinnately compound’ – and the largest leaves of any deciduous North American tree.  Their intricacy makes the canopy spectacularly beautiful in summer, below.

Gymnocladus dioicus-Kentucky coffeetree-bipinnate foliage

Juglans cinerea – Butternut: We once had a tall butternut tree in the back of our garden. It produced ridged, oval, sticky green fruits that the squirrels ate, leaving husks all over the lawn (like black walnut, below).  My husband loved a particular curved branch that extended across our garden, and I loved its history as a dye plant for the brown uniforms of the Confederate Army (the soldiers were nicknamed “butternuts”). Sadly, in the 1990s, it developed the butternut canker that would ultimately kill it – and has caused its population to decline throughout North America. I’m delighted that the tree below still survives in Mount Pleasant Cemetery, its trunk layered with grey-brown, diamond-ridged bark.

Juglans cinerea-Butternut-bark-trunk-winter

Juglans nigra – Black walnut: I live right under a huge black walnut, below – or perhaps I should call it a raccoon home…..Though the big green walnuts drive me crazy in the fall as they rain down on my roof like billiard balls, and the tree frightens me on a night like the one earlier this week, when an ice storm coated all the limbs, I do adore its graceful canopy and the cardinals that sing in its branches just above my bedroom ceiling.  But my next-door neighbour and I have spent a fortune on arborists over the decades to cable its limbs and restrain its exuberance, while still providing lots of growth points.

Juglans nigra-Black walnut-over house

Black walnut has a sturdy trunk with bark that’s braided with diamond-patterned furrows. From the time the United States was colonized in the early 1600s, black walnut wood was recognized as superior, and used for cabinet-making and gunstocks. The tree can reach 100 feet (30 metres) in moist, deep soil, and ensures its place in the natural forest by secreting juglone from its roots, bark, shoots and leaves. The botanical name for this is allelopathy, but many natural understory shade plants are unaffected by juglone.

Juglans-nigra-Black walnut-winter-bark

And… because I’m not really happy with my winter photos of black walnut, here’s a summer shot illustrating that elegant canopy. Isn’t this spectacular?

Juglans nigra-black walnut-summer canopy

Larix kaempferi – Japanese larch: The larches, like dawn redwood and bald cypress, are deciduous conifers that shed their needle-like leaves in autumn.  They perform well in damp soil (the one below is growing in the run-off of a water feature) and turn yellow in autumn. Japanese larch can grow to 80 feet at maturity, its trunk reaching 3-4 feet (90-120 cm) in diameter. A young tree like this one still has its smooth grey-brown bark; in time, it will form plate-like strips that peel off to reveal the red underbark.

Larix kaempferi-Japanese larch-winter

Larix laricina – Eastern tamarack: Though it prefers the cool, wet ground of sphagnum bogs or muskeg in the north country (it grows the furthest north of any tree in North America), the tamarack can be grown in adequately moist soil in a garden, too.  Reaching 20-35 feet (6-15 metres) in height, it can be recognized by its slender profile, feathery leaves that turn brilliant-gold in autumn and dark cones that remain on the tree for years. Its dark grey-brown bark is thin and scaly.  And, as one observer says: “In winter, it is the deadest-looking vegetation on the globe.”

Larix laricina-eastern tamarack-bark-winter

Liquidambar styraciflua – Sweetgum: Perhaps if I lived in Virginia or North Carolina or Alabama where indigenous sweetgum trees grow in abandoned fields, I might have a more jaded view of this tall, majestic native southerner. But I have long adored the tall sweetgum that towers majestically over the stone angel in Mount Pleasant Cemetery, especially in autumn when the star-shaped leaves take on yellow, amber, scarlet and crimson hues and the “gum balls” dangle from the canopy. (See photo below.) Sweetgum grows 60-75 feet (18-23 metres) tall and 40-55 feet (12-17 metres) wide. Back in the pioneer days, the resinous gum exuded by the tree was used as chewing gum; it was also given to Civil War soldiers to treat dysentery.  Though sweetgum isn’t native to Canada, we certainly saw a lot of gumwood trim used in Toronto houses at one time – including one I owned. If I were young, I would plant a small liquidambar in my garden; in the meantime, I’ll enjoy standing under that sweetgum in the cemetery.

Liquidambar styraciflua-Sweetgum-Winter-Bark-Trunk

My favourite sweetgum watches over this stone angel in Mount Pleasant Cemetery. This is how it looks in autumn.

Liquidambar-styraciflua-swe

Liriodendron tulipifera – Tuliptree, Yellow poplar: The tallest eastern hardwood, tuliptree can grow as high as 160 feet (50 metres) in the rich forests of the Southern Piedmont in Virginia and Georgia. In its stands in Norfolk County in southern Ontario near Lake Erie, at the northern limit of its native range, it tends to reach a more modest height at maturity. Its bark is furrowed and brown with intersecting ridges. In the wild its trunk can remain limbless for up to 50 feet (15 metres) before branching out. Below is the winter bark of a lovely variegated cultivar called ‘Majestic Beauty’.

Liriodendron tulipifera 'Majestic Beauty'-variegated tuliptree-winter-trunk

Liriodendron flowers are exquisite, like yellow chalices (i.e. tulips) flamed with orange, and very attractive to bees. (In fact, the main nectar flow for an Atlanta beekeeper I’ve interviewed is April, when it flowers in the Georgia forests.)

Liriodendron tulipifera-flower

Malus ‘Dolgo’ – Crabapple:  Crabapples aren’t known for their attractive bark, but the “patchwork quilt” effect on the trunk of many crabs is often enough to aid in their identification in winter.  This is old-fashioned ‘Dolgo’; its large fruit make it one of the best selections for crabapple jelly.

Malus 'Dolgo'-crab apple-winter-bark-trunk

Malus tschonoskii – Pillar apple, Chonosuki crab: Here’s an unusual small tree, native to Japan, quite rare in cultivation and one that is often mistaken for a cherry in winter, because of its prunus-like bark.  (In fact, pillar apple was once considered to be a pear, and placed in the Pyrus genus.)  Narrowly upright to around 30 feet (9 metres), it  puts on a beautiful show in autumn, when the multi-colored red, orange and gold foliage is arrayed against the tree’s smooth, grey limbs.

Malus tschonoskii-Pillar apple-winter-bark

Metasequoia glyptostroboides – Dawn redwood: An iconic “fossil tree”, once thought extinct, until a remarkable series of events featuring its modern discovery in the 1940s in the mountains of Hubei, China, and the detective work of Chinese botanists who were able to connect it to an ancient fossil studied by a Japanese paleobotanist a few years earlier. Though I decided to focus this winter bark blog on deciduous trees, who cannot appreciate the amazing, fibrous, peeling, red-and-brown bark and perfect, conical form of the dawn redwood?  And since, like the gingko, it’s a ‘deciduous conifer’, it met half the criteria in any case. Dawn redwood can reach at least 100 feet (30 metres) in perfect conditions, which in China include shady, moist sites near water, especially ravines and creek banks.

Metasequoia glyptostroboides-dawn redwood-winter-bark-trunk

Morus rubra – Red mulberry:  This Eastern North America native with its brown, furrowed bark and spreading crown is often confused with the Asian white mulberry (M. alba), which was imported from China to create a silk-spinning industry and later became an invasive in many regions. Although Donald Culross Peattie wrote that Choctaw women made a shawl from red mulberry inner bark, the native tree did not find favour with silkworms. But red mulberry’s blackberry-like fruit does find favour with birds and small animals, not to mention foragers who use it in jams, pies and cordials.

Morus rubra-red mulberry-winter-bark-trunk

Ostrya virginiana – Eastern ironwood, American hophornbeam:   Donald Culross Peattie writes of this small, native, understory tree in his wonderful A Natural History of Trees of Central and Eastern North America:  In our rich sylva, a little tree like the Ironwood melts into the summer greenery, or the silver intricacy of naked twigs in the winter months, in a way that makes it difficult to pick out and identify……. Everything about this little tree is at once serviceable and self-effacing.  Such members of any society are easily overlooked, but well worth knowing.” In the winter, it’s the bark of the trunk that’s most noticeable: greyish brown, with fine, flaked scales, covering wood that is the second hardest (after Cornus florida) of all native trees. In the canopy, like little damselflies suspended from the branches, are the old catkins, flying alongside the odd old leaf, dainty reminders of the summer past.

Ostrya virginiana-Ironwood-hophornbeam-winter-bark-trunk

Parrotia persica – Persian ironwood:  There is one, lonely Persian parrotia in Mount Pleasant Cemetery, and it is a sweet little thing. A witch hazel relative native to Iran and the Caucasus, it has leathery leaves that turn myriad shades of gold, orange and crimson in autumn – but not in a fireworks way (in Toronto at least), more ‘a few here and a few there’. Growing to 40 feet (12 metres) with a dense, spreading crown, it features attractive, smooth, mottled bark, but branching starts so low on the tree, it’s a challenge to make a good photo of the trunk.

Parrotia-persica-Persian-ir

Phellodendron amurense – Amur cork tree: I am very fond of this small Asian tree (30-45 feet, 9-14 metres). It bears lovely compound foliage that turns a soft-yellow in autumn, clusters of deep-blue fruit (beloved by robins) and interesting, ridged, corky bark. It’s most happy in moist, rich soil, but will tolerate some drought. Dioecious, the female trees have proven invasive in certain warmer regions in North America.

Phellodendron amurense-Amur cork tree-winter-bark-trunk

Platanus x acerifolia – London plane tree: There is no mistaking this handsome tree, a hybrid of the Oriental plane tree (P. orientalis) and the American sycamore (P. occidentalis). Its smooth, mottled cream-olive-brown exfoliating bark graces a stocky trunk and branches on a tree that can reach 80 feet (24 metres) in height and almost as much in spread. Much more pollution-tolerant than its American parent (below), London plane trees grace city avenues throughout the temperate world.

Platanus x acerifolia-London plane-winter

Here’s a closeup of the gorgeous mottled bark of London plane tree.

Platanus x acerifolia bark-London plane-close-up

Platanus occidentalis – American sycamore:  This beloved native American tree, one of the parents of London plane tree, above, grows in a few spots in Mount Pleasant Cemetery, at the northern limit of its hardiness. On older trees, the trunk loses its mottled appearance and develops tight, geometric scales, but the limbs still show the exfoliating, leopardskin colouration. Sycamores – the largest deciduous trees in North America –  are the stuff of legend in the eastern United States, especially in the bottomlands of the Ohio Valley, where they once grew to heights of 160 feet (49 metres) with trunks 13 feet (4 metres) in diameter. Their distinctive, hanging ‘buttonball” fruit is a tight, spherical aggregation of achenes – seeds fixed with little bit of fluff to aid them on the wind.

Platanus occidentalis-American sycamore-winter bark-trunk

Populus alba – White poplar: Native to Europe, Asia and North Africa, this large poplar was introduced into North America in 1748 and has been so successful at propagating itself that it is now on the pernicious weed list of many regions. It grows 50-75 feet tall (15-23 metres) or more. The big trunk on old trees is dark-grey, but the upper branches are snow-white and very beautiful, especially with the silvery backs of the blue-green, maple-like, summer leaves fluttering in the wind.

Populus alba-White poplar-winter bark

Prunus maackii – Amur cherry:  I love this rugged little cherry with its lustrous, curling, coppery-brown bark on young trees. Native to Manchuria and southeadt Russia, it was discovered by Russian naturalist Richard Maak in 1855 on the banks of the Amur River. Its extreme hardiness (USDA Zone 3) destined it for use as a street tree in prairie cities. It normally reaches 15-25 feet (4.6-6 metres) in height and width, but can grow taller in ideal conditions – which means the moist soil of the summer monsoon region of China.

Prunus maackii-Amur cherry-winter-bark-trunk

Here is Amur cherry in May when the white chokecherry flower clusters are in bloom, below. This is in a small courtyard at Toronto Botanical Garden, where they have cleverly underplanted it with bugleweed (Ajuga).

Prunus maackii-Amur cherry-flowers

Prunus serrula – Tibetan cherry, also called birchbark and paperbark cherry, makes quite a splash with its shiny, coppery-red trunk on a small tree that reaches 20-30 feet (6 -8 metres). Its foliage is narrow and willow-like, and it bars down-facing clusters of unremarkable, single, white flowers in early spring.  Strangely, although it’s purported to be hardy to USDA Zone 5, I’ve never seen it in the east, either in Canada or the U.S. (though there’s supposed to be on in the Rock Garden at New York Botanical Garden).

Prunus serrula-Tibetan cherry-winter bark

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prunus serrulata – Japanese cherry: Perhaps no other bark is as well-known and beloved as the shiny, smooth, lenticel-etched bark of the myriad Japanese cherry trees. This is because the trees (called sakura in Japan) are part of an annual Japanese spring tradition called hanami, or cherry blossom festival. Below is the bark of ‘Shogetsu’, a late-blooming, pale pink, double-flowered Japanese cherry.

Prunus serrulata 'Shogetsu'-Japanese cherry-winter bark-trunk

Pterocarya fraxinifolia – Caucasian wingnut: I’ve only seen this broad, majestic, walnut relative in Mount Pleasant Cemetery, where it dangles its 12-inch (30 cm) green fruit chains like long, emerald earrings from amongst the lush, pinnate foliage.  Native to Iran and Central Asia, Caucasian wingnut is fast-growing to 80 feet (24 metres) tall with a 60 foot (16 metres) spread.  Often multi-trunked, the bark is grey-brown, with long, ridged furrows. As in the photo below, the low branching and massive weight of the limbs often necessitates cabling.

Pterocarya fraxinifolia-Caucasian wingnut-winter bark

Here are those amazing green fruits of the Caucasian wingnut.

Pterocarya-fraxinifolia-fru

Quercus alba – Eastern white oak: At maturity, the white oak wears the word ‘majestic’ naturally. Maturing at 60-100 feet with a spread up to 50 feet (15 metres), its stocky trunk with scaly, grey bark often peeling in plates and patches, last year’s leaves hanging on in places to ……

Quercus alba-white oak-winter-canopy-bark

…. its massive canopy and large limbs – all describe the tree many naturalists revere as the best in the forest. Listen to Donald Culross Peattie, from his wonderful A Natural History of Trees of Central and Eastern North America:  If Oak is the king of trees, as tradition has it, then the White Oak, throughout its range, is the king of kings…no other tree in our sylva has so great a spread. The mighty branches themselves, often fifty feet long or more, leave the trunk nearly at right angles and extend their arms benignantly above the generations of men who pass beneath them.  Indeed, the fortunate possessor of an old White Oak, owns a sort of second home, an outdoor mansion of shade, and greenery, and leafy music.”   Here is an autumn image of an “outdoor mansion” built of white oak.

Quercus alba-White oak-autumn color

Quercus macrocarpa – Bur oak: Not particularly well-known, even in southern Ontario where it is the most common native oak, this eastern North American tree defines “adaptable”. It likes cold winters and hot summers and tolerates a variety of soil types and moisture (though it is generally found on flood plains). Rugged and handsome with ridged, grey bark on a tree that reaches 50 to 100 feet (15-30 metres), depending on conditions, it is a pollution-tolerant choice for those who want a sturdy, wildlife-friendly native oak.

Quercus macrocarpa-bur oak-winter bark

Quercus palustris – Pin oak: Native to the Carolinian zone near Lake Erie, pin oak prefers moist places (“palustris” means water-loving) but seems to survive in Toronto with normal garden irrigation. It tolerates clay but must have acidic soil; alkaline conditions will cause chlorosis and yellowing of the leaves.  Its neat, pyramidal shape, reasonable height (60 feet – 18 metres) and beautiful fall color recommend it – provided soil pH is considered. This is the dense horizontal branching of a pin oak in winter. Note that the bark is changing its habit from grey-brown and fairly smooth to thinly-ridged and furrowed.

Quercus palustris-pin oak-winter bark-trunk

Here is the spectacular fall colour of pin oaks in Toronto. The orange leaf colour in the tree at left is almost certainly a result of chlorosis from localized alkaline soil.

Quercus palustris-pin oak-fall colour

Quercus rubra – Northern red oak: Perhaps because they grow all around us, along with white pines, on the granite bedrock of Lake Muskoka, I adore Northern red oaks. From their boughs, I hear the cheeky call of the blue jays, the chattering of chickadees, the peeeeep of the foraging downy woodpecker. Their abundant acorns feed squirrels and chipmunks.  They turn glowing amber to deep red in autumn, long after the red and sugar maples have lost their leaves. Up there, the enemy is a dry summer and the odd infestation of army caterpillars. They tend not to grow as tall on granite as red oaks do here in the city, where they can reach 60 to 70 feet (18-21 metres) and a spread of 40 – 60 feet (12-18 metres), with greyish bark ridged with shallow furrows.

Quercus rubra-northern red oak-winter-bark

Quercus Crimson Spire™ – Hybrid Oak: There are several fastigiate oaks for use in smaller spaces, but this tightly columnar hybrid selection (Quercus ‘Crimschmidt’) of English oak (Q. robur) and white oak (Q. alba) is a stunning tree. It grows to 45 feet (14 metres) tall and 15 feet (4.5 metres) wide. As for the winter bark, there are so many marcescent leaves held on to Crimson Spire until spring, it is truthfully somewhat difficult to appreciate the bark without standing right beside the trunk.

Quercus Crimson Spire-oak-'Crimschmidt'-winter-marcescent leaves

Robinia pseudoacacia – Black locust: On a warm, late spring night, sometime around the first week of June in Toronto, an enchanting perfume wafts on the air – a scent that reminds some people of orange blossoms. If you chase it down, or rather “up”, you’ll find it’s coming from the abundant, white flower clusters of a tall tree with pea-like leaves. So sweet are the flowers of black locust that the volatile oil has been used as an absolute in the perfume industry, and the flowers produce a honey so clear, it’s said to look like the glass that holds it. Though indigenous to the central Appalachians, black locust has successfully made its way throughout North America and Europe – partly through commerce, and partly through its highly invasive self-seeding. There is no mistaking the bark of a black locust; it is thick and deeply grooved in a ropy pattern, on a trunk that’s often ramrod straight, as below. Though certain populations of very straight, high-branching black locusts were lent the name ‘shipmast locust’, the heavy, decay-resistant wood was evidently used for ship keels, not for masting, which requires lighter softwoods.

Robinia pseudoacacia-Black locust-winter-trunk

Salix × sepulcralis ‘Chrysocoma’ – Weeping willow:  What can you say about a grand weeping willow?  In late winter or early spring, when the long shoots brighten and the dainty catkins open, it’s as if the tree draped itself with dangling jewelry of the finest gold. Of course, you can also say the wood is brittle and prone to breaking, the fallen shoots make a terrible mess in small gardens, the tree wreaks havoc with underground plumbing and though it’s a rapid grower, it also declines quickly. Weeping willow bark is deeply grooved with patterned ridges.

Salix x sepulcralis 'Chrysocoma'-Golden weeping willow-winter-bark

Sorbus aucuparia ‘Rossica’ – Russian mountain ash:  Another ultra-hardy pyramidal tree for the small garden, this selection of mountain ash bears clusters of white flowers in late spring and bird-friendly orange fruit in autumn as the compound leaves change colour to copper-orange.  It grows around 30 feet (9 metres) tall with an 18 foot (5.5 metre) spread. On young trees, the bark is dark-brownish-grey and shiny with prominent lenticels; as the tree ages, the bark splits and develops cracks and scales. Mountain ash, or rowan as it’s called in Britain, rarely lives more than 80 years, and is susceptible to a number of diseases.

Sorbus aucuparia 'Rossica'-mountain ash-winter bark

Stewartia pseudocamellia – Korean Stewartia: Though they are fine collector plants, there aren’t many stewartias in the Toronto region; they are not reliably hardy and need moist soil and protection from late day sun.  I photographed my little winter specimen in a courtyard at the Toronto Botanical Garden, where it gets morning sun and is sheltered from cold wind. However, it’s tempting to seek out one of the few specialist nurseries that sell stewartia,for its luscious, camellia-like, white, June blossoms, its magnificent autumn leaf colour and this gorgeous mottled cream-and-brown bark.  Korean stewartia grows to 40 feet (12 metres) with a 30 foot (9 metres) spread, beginning to branch outward very close to the ground. 

Stewartia pseudocamellia-winter bark

Tilia cordata – Littleleaf linden:  When the lindens – or, as the English call them, “limes” – flower in early summer, the air is sweet beneath their boughs.  Bees, hover flies and butterflies buzz in the flowers, as befits a genus that produces a monofloral honey. In the United States, basswood (T. americana) and white basswood (T. heterophylla), aka “the bee tree” are the beekeeper’s friends, but in eastern Europe, many tilia species are used for honey production. (See my pollinator array photo below).   Littleleaf linden has been a popular street tree and specimen tree in Toronto, but those who have tried to garden under it rue the gloomy shade from its broad crown. It is densely-branched and reaches 60 feet (18 metres) with a 40 foot (12 metres) spread. Linden bark is grey and shallowly fissured.

Tilia cordata-Littleleaf linden-winter-bark

Pollinators forage on linden flowers, below. Clockwise from top left, metallic green bee, swallowtail butterfly and European honey bee on American basswood (T. americana) flowers; hoverfly on Caucasian lime (T. x euchlora) flowers. Large-scale bumble bee deaths of bees nectaring on Tilia species have been reported in the U.S. and Europe, but such toxicity is not well understood. (I have personally seen bumble bees lying in gardens under flowering lindens).  It is now hypothesized that bumble bees will often expend all their energy foraging on lindens whose nectar is depleted, leading to collapse and death.

Tilia-pollinators-Linden flowers-Lime-Basswood

Ulmus americana – American elm: It is bittersweet looking up into the winter crown of a mature American elm, for this old tree is a survivor of a plague that decimated the landscape of its kin. When Dutch elm disease was first discovered near port cities in eastern North America in 1930, imported from Europe on elm logs to be milled for veneer, there were an estimated 77 million elms on the continent. Six decades later, that number had been reduced by 75%. Today’s surviving trees stand alone, like this one, its grey bark ridged and fissured, its arching limbs (those that have not fallen to ice storms) giving way to the elegant drooping branchlets that mark its profile as unique.

Ulmus americana-American elm-winter-bark-trunk

Ulmus pumila – Siberian elm – Here is the winter bark of a successful invader, a tree once used for hedging in my neck of the woods, as one might use beech or privet. But Ulmus pumila is no wimpy privet; it ‘hedges’ its bets by waiting until the gardener is not looking, then shoots for the moon. Paradoxically, its specific epithet means ‘dwarf’, but it is anything but small. This tree, for example, with its diamond-furrowed bark and adventitious shoots emerging from cankers on the trunk, is well over 60 feet (18 metres).

Ulmus pumila-Siberian elm-winter-bark-trunk

Zelkova serrata – Japanese zelkova: The stately zelkova is my final winter bark entry, and a worthy one at that. This elm relative has grey-brown, beech-like bark with raised lenticels, exfoliating as the tree ages.     Pollution-tolerant, it is often planted as a fast-growing street tree, especially the cultivar ‘Green Vase’, which features ascending limbs, an upright shape and excellent fall colour. Zelkova reaches 70 feet (21 metres) at maturity with a 50-foot (15 metres) spread.

Zelkova serrata-winter-bark-trunk

 

Ornamental Grasses in Winter

Here we are in January, and the snow is flying outside my office window this morning. I often make fun of those ‘designing your garden for winter’ tips, because the reality in a climate like ours (unlike those beautiful European gardens with picturesque hoar frost ) is that heavy, wet snow or layers of ice from freezing rain tend to demolish the winter architecture of non-woody perennials and ornamental grasses.  I mean, seriously: the photo below is my Toronto back garden after a big snowstorm. No matter how persistent the winter structure of the plants, if nothing can actually be seen, it’s just a notion that doesn’t hold water. (Unless it’s frozen.)

janet-davis-back-garden-in-snow

Speaking of “frozen”, freezing rain or sleet can be not only beautiful, but quite dramatic in its effects in the garden. Below are winter arrangements in containers on my back deck featuring Carex ‘Red Rooster’ and southern magnolia leaves, among other things, on December 22, 2013, the day after Toronto’s historic ice storm. Look how the ice has coated each tawny blade. As beautiful as it was that morning, tinkling in the freezing air, that carex does not have the presence to be a player in the winter garden where I live.

carex-red-rooster-ice

Neither does Mexican feather grass (Nassella tenuissima), though it looked lovely in my front pot at the beginning of winter (left over from my summer arrangement).

nassella-tenuissima-winter

So what ornamental grasses are effective in the winter garden in our climate (Can. Zone 6b, USDA Zone 5), before it gets a 3-foot dump of snow, that is? For that, I like to use Toronto’s wonderful Music Garden as a beautiful illustration of the power of grasses to draw lines and create texture, even in snowy weather.  Look at this combination of ‘Hameln’ fountain grass (Pennisetum alopecuroides), front, with Chinese maiden grass (Miscanthus sinensis) and its feathery plumes in the rear.

music-garden-pennisetum-miscanthus

The low grass lining the curved path is again, ‘Hameln’ fountain grass (Pennisetum alopecuroides) and Chinese maiden grass (Miscanthus sinensis) on the right.

music-garden-pennisetum-miscanthus-winter

Here is ‘Hameln’ fountain grass with echinacea seedheads left to feed winter birds at the Music Garden.

music-garden-pennisetum-echinacea

You can see, below, why fountain grass got its name.

pennisetum-hameln-music-garden-winter

This very upright grass is ‘Karl Foerster’ feather grass (Calamagrostis acutiflora) in winter.

calamagrostis-karl-foerster-music-garden-winter2

Here is ‘Karl Foerster’ feather grass with Toronto’s city skyline behind.

calamagrostis-karl-foerster-winter-music-garden

Though Northern sea oats (Chasmanthium latifolium) doesn’t have quite the presence of some of the bigger grasses, it still manages to stay intact through early winter.

music-garden-chasmanthium-s

For more wintry grasses, let’s head on over to the Toronto Botanical Garden in late December or January. Here is a stand of switch grass (Panicum virgatum) in the spectacular Piet Oudolf-designed entry border.  This native grass is a very good choice for a winter garden, and popular with the birds in autumn as well.

toronto-botanical-oudolf-border-panicum-winter

These are the neat hummocks of grey moor grass (Sesleria nitida) under a fresh snowfall. (I changed this from S. autumnalis, when I discovered the planting plan.)

sesleria-nitida-snow

Japanese hakone grass (Hakonechloa macra) is often hiding under the snow, but makes a bronze-gold splash in early winter.

hakonechloa-macra-winter-snow

Similarly, blue fescue (Festuca glauca ‘Blue Glow’) is rather small to make a big impression in winter, but it offers texture in the first part at any rate.

festuca-glauca-blue-glow-winter

And our native little bluestem (Schizachyrium scoparium) looks lovely with a light dusting of snow, but gets lost as the snow deepens.

schizachyrium-scoparium-little-bluestem-winter

This is Korean feather grass (Calamagrosis brachytricha), which does persist fairly well through a few snows.

calamagrostis-brachytricha-korean-feather-grass-winter

After freezing rain, you can often find ice crystals in the flowers of grasses like Korean feather grass.

calamagrostis-brachytricha-korean-feather-grass-ice

Chinese maiden grass (Miscanthus sinensis) is a dependable winter fixture at the TBG….

miscanthus-sinensis-winter

….. and its big plume flowers look lovely with snow.

miscanthus-sinensis-flowers-snow

I love the way the narrow leaves of Miscanthus ‘Morning Light’ curl in winter. This is March – not bad for 3 full months of the toughest season.

miscanthus-morning-light-winter

It’s a good idea to leave ornamental grasses through winter, providing another element of beauty for this long, desolate season. I like to time cutting them down in late winter or early spring, when the ground is still frozen, so I can walk freely around some of the bigger stands.  This was April 28th one year at the cottage – and I find a pair of shears does the trick.

cutting-ornamental-grasses-spring

Or, if you’re feeling brave, you could always follow the example of this gardener at the Music Garden, seen using a chainsaw to cut down the big grasses on April 23rd of the same year.

music-garden-chainsaw-cutting-ornamental-grasses

That’s a starter kit, anyway. This weekend, I’m heading up to our cottage on Lake Muskoka. The lake should be well on its way to freezing over and, depending on how much snow has fallen, I may glimpse a few flowers of switch grass poking out.  Stay warm!

panicum-virgatum-muskoka-winter-snow

 

Beguilingly Brown in the Garden

“Brown in the garden”. Remember my January resolution to blog about every colour for all of 2016? Well, it’s September and I’ve delayed writing about brown as long as I could….

Brown Flowers & Leaves-ThePaintboxGarden

No, “brown in the garden” is not a phrase you often hear, unless it’s wondering what to do with those Japanese maple leaves that are curling up and turning brown in summer (uh-oh).  Or the white pine needles that are turning brown in October (they’re getting ready to fall silly… no evergreen is truly ever-green.)

In the winter, you might notice bronze oak leaves remaining on trees, even through the snowiest and coldest weather.  That is a function of tannins that remain in the leaves once chlorophyll breaks down, protecting and preserving them in the same way an old-fashioned ‘tanner’ would use these substances to turn animal hides into leather.  This tendency to hang onto the twig as a brown leaf after most deciduous trees have lost their leaves is called marcescence.  Beeches, below, also exhibit marcescence, and their winter leaves can be quite fetching in the garden..

beech-leaves

I love this winter combination of columnar beeches (Fagus sylvatica ‘Atropurpurea’) and switch grass (Panicum virgatum) at the Toronto Botanical Garden.

fagus-sylvatica-atropurpurea

Many warm-season grasses also retain tannins in the leaf and enough structural integrity to stand upright through winter weather. Shown below in snow is switch grass (Panicum virgatum), but you may note this strong winter presence in maiden grass (Miscanthus), feather reed grass (Calamagrostis), fountain grass (Pennisetum) and northern sea oats (Chasmanthium) as well.

panicum-virgatum

Toronto’s Music Garden relies on ornamental grasses to provide much of its interest for the long winter months.

grasses-music-garden

Brown seedheads also have their own charm, and many look beautiful against snow. This is anise hyssop (Agastache foeniculum ‘Blue Fortune’) consorting with a grass in winter.

agastache-foeniculum-blue-fortune

Purple coneflower seedheads (Echinacea purpurea) persist very well through winter, and feed hungry birds as well.

echinacea-seedheads

Even in the gardening season, flowers that turn brown add a textural note to plantings.  In my own cottage meadows, I love the September shaving-brush seedheads of New York ironweed (Vernonia noveboracensis).

vernonia-noveboracensis-seedheads

These are the seedheads of Phlomis tuberosa ‘Amazone’, with the fading flowers of echinacea. Not surprisingly, this duo is in the Entry Border of the Toronto Botanical Garden – a border designed by Piet Oudolf, whose philosophy is to create a meadow-like tapestry of plants that lend beauty even when out of bloom.

phlomis-tuberosa-amazone-seedheads

And look at these giant alliums, also in the entry border at the TBG. Of course they were beautiful when they were rich violet-purple, but I do love them as brown seedheads consorting with the rest of the plants a few weeks later.

allium-seedheads-toronto-botanical-garden

Speaking of the Toronto Botanical Garden, I spend so much time there, chronicling the changes in the various gardens, but especially in Piet Oudolf’s Entry Border, that I’ve come to appreciate the plants that persist beyond their starring roles. So I’ve made a video to show the function that “brown” fulfills as a substantive colour in autumn and winter, after the colourful flowers have faded. There are many plants shown in these images, but especially good for persistence of seedheads are Liatris, Echinacea, Achillea, Stachys, Astilbe and, of course, all the ornamental grasses. Have a look……

Piet Oudolf also designed the plantings at the High Line, where brown is a colour, too. Below is a pink astilbe in the process of turning bronze, then buff, making it the perfect colour companion for the blackeyed susans.

high-line-astilbe

Lovely as they are in the winter garden, many grasses also have spectacular brown flowers that create lovely colour combinations in the summer garden, too, like this fluffy brown cloud of (Deschampsia caespitosa) with airy sea lavender (Limonium latifolium), also in the border designed by Piet Oudolf.

deschampsia-caespitosa-limonium-latifolium-toronto-botanical-garden

And here it is softening purple coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea) at the Royal Botanical Garden in Burlington, Ontario.  Doesn’t that little cloud of brown add a grace note to that scene?

deschampsia-caespitosa-echinacea-royal-botanical-garden

This is feather reed grass (Calamagrostis acutiflora ‘Karl Foerster’) with blue Russian sage (Perovskia atriplicifolia) – demonstrating that blue and (golden) brown make lovely dance partners.

calamagrostis-acutiflora-perovskia-atriplicifolia

Speaking of blue and brown, this is a very good combination:  Amsonia ‘Blue Ice’ with Heuchera ‘Caramel’.

heuchera-amsonia-blue-star

Heucheras, of course, have been bred over the past few decades to produce a fabulous range of colours, many of which veer towards brown. I love the rich tones of ‘Mahogany’, below.

heuchera-mahogany

Even some evergreens can be called brown, like this weird little arborvitae, Thuja occientalis ‘Golden Tuffet’ (which isn’t even dead!)

thuja-occidentalis-golden-tuffet

Many tropical plants seem to exhibit brownish tones. For example, luscious Canna ‘Intrigue’, here with coleus at the Toronto Botanical Garden….

canna-intrigue-toronto-botanical-garden

…. and that strange multi-colored tropical shrub copperleaf (Acalypha wilkesiana), with its patchwork peach & brown leaves. Though you sometimes see this as the cultivar ‘Mosaica’, the reddish-olive-brown shows up in varying degrees in a few forms of that species. ‘Haleakala’ has a completely brown leaf.

acalypha-wilkesiana

I love Cordyline ‘Red Star’, which is the centrepiece of this fabulous urn by the Toronto Botanical Garden’s gifted horticulturist Paul Zammit. Though it often looks more burgundy, here it reads as rich brown, especially with the matching heucheras.

cordyline-red-star-toronto-botanical-garden

Phormiums or New Zealand flax have been a big part of the tropical gardener’s arsenal, and many are bronze- or olive-brown. This is lovely ‘Dusky Chief’.

phormium-dusky-chief

And where would gardeners be with annual sweet potato vine (Ipomoea batatas)? One of the richest is mocha-coloured ‘Sweet Caroline Bronze’, shown below with Pelargonium ‘Indian Dunes’.

ipomoea-batatas-sweet-caroline

There are countless cultivars of the annual foliage plant coleus (Plectranthus scutellarioides), and a few hit the brown jackpot, like ‘Velvet Mocha’ below.

plectranthus-scutellarioides-velvet-mocha

Pineapple lily (Eucomis comosa) ‘Sparkling Burgundy’ has olive-brown foliage that really adds depth to a garden, like the Ladies’ Bed at the New York Botanical Garden.

eucomis

Brown-flowered perennial plants are, admittedly, in short supply (many gardeners likely wondering why you’d even want a brown flower) but there are strange and lovely bearded irises that come in copper and cinnamon shades, like ‘Hot Spice’, below.

iris-x-germanica-hot-spice

And we simply cannot leave a discussion of brown in the plant world without talking about the genus Carex.  Whether it’s Carex testacea, like this fun bronze-headed sculpture in Marietta & Ernie O’Byrne’s Northwest Garden Nursery in Eugene, Oregon……

northwest-garden-nursery-carex-testacea

….. or Carex buchananii in my very own sundeck pots a few years back.

carex-buchananii-in-pots

I loved the way the Toronto Botanical Garden’s Paul Zammit used Carex buchananii in this spectacular run of windowboxes, along with orange calibracoa, the golden grass Hakonechloa macra ‘All Gold’, golden cypress and kitchen herbs.

carex-buchananii-toronto-botanical-garden-planter

And, yes, C. buchananii can be counted on throughout the snows of winter. (Whether it reappears in spring depends on how cold winter got!)

carex-buchananii-toronto-botanical-garden

BUT….. gardeners do not live by plants alone. There are furnishings! And they can be brown & beautiful, like these cool, dark-brown metallic planters at Chanticleer Garden, in Wayne PA.  (Check out the carex inside.)

chanticleer-pyramidal-containers

Speaking of Chanticleer, I loved this rugged brown wood-and-COR-TEN steel bench and pergola in their Tennis Garden – and look how lovely brown furnishings are with brilliant chartreuse foliage.

chanticleer-tennis-garden-pergola-bench

Weathered COR-TEN steel is all the rage these days, being a stable, rusty finish that needs no upkeep. It was used to spectacular effect to make this canoe-like planter at New York’s High Line, holding interesting, moisture-loving plants flanking the garden’s water feature.

high-line-cor-ten-planter

Water features are another way to bring a shot of brown into the garden. Have a look at the drilled ceramic urn fountain, below, which I photographed at Seaside Nursery in Carpinteria, California.

fountain-seaside-gardens-carpenteria

Let me finish up with a few sculptural details in shades of brown. Let’s start with whimsy – and a little Pythagorean creation from Suzann Partridge’s annual Artful Garden show.  Isn’t she sweet?

partridge-brown-garden-sculpture

And then let’s move to elegance: a handsome, rusty obelisk perfectly placed within a flowery border at Northwest Garden Nursery in Eugene.

northwest-garden-nuresry-brown-obelisk

Finally, I’ll sign off with a little farewell to summer: a September bouquet filled with brown prairie seedheads and grasses, from my Lake Muskoka meadow to you. And a reminder to remember that brown is a colour too!

bouquet-brown-september-grasses-seedheads

 

Not a Blog!

This is not a blog. I repeat: this is not a blog.  It is merely a taste of blogs to come this year. And they will be about COLOUR!  Or color (if you prefer it without extraneous British/Canadian vowels).

Flower Colour Array-ThePaintboxGarden

Yes, I thought it might be time for The Paintbox Garden to adhere to its stated theme. So each month of 2016 will be devoted to a different hue, beginning with JANUARY, which will be white as the driven (or walking) snow. White as in wonderland, appropriate to the season. White as an even paler shade of pale. And of course, white as in perfume – coming up soon.

White Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

FEBRUARY will be red, as in better — than dead, paint the town —, roses are —,  and UB-40s favourite beverage.  And the longest, boldest wave length in Isaac Newton’s spectral light arsenal. Plus, of course, swamp hibiscus.

Red Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

MARCH will be green (yes, I know, hackneyed Irish trope for St. Paddy’s). But it is the only really important colour in the garden paintbox, as all chlorophyll-lovers know.  Nevertheless, as Kermit is fond of saying, it ain’t easy being green.  My March blogs will help dispel that notion.

Green Leaves-ThePaintboxGarden

But being Kermit-green is definitely easier than being chartreuse, which is half-green and half-yellow. I will squeeze some limes… and chartreuses…into my March blogs as well.

Chatreuse Leaves-ThePaintboxGarden

Because it’s the cruellest month, as T.S. Eliot reminded us, APRIL will be blue. Actually, I chose blue for April because of all those lovely little azure bulbs that spring up from the snow. But there will be azure blues….

Blue Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

….and lighter sky-blues for the entire gardening season, too.

Sky-Blue Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

MAY will be pink, as in the darling buds. Think crabapples, weigelas, columbines, peonies, and phloxes and hydrangeas for later in the season. There will be lusty pinks…

Pink Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

…and delicate, light pinks.

Light Pink Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

I’ll skip magenta because I wrote a love letter to that neon hue in 2014.

JUNE will be purple. Riots often break out about what purple means (for the record it comes from the Greek word porphura, for little murex sea snails that bleed that dark crimson ‘purple’ dye). So let me say June will be about lilac-purple..

Lilac-Purple Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

.. through lavender-purple…

Lavender-Purple Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

… into violet-purple…

Violet-Purple Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

… and finally rich, royal, Seagram’s Bag, Tyrian purple.

Purple Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

JULY will be all sunshine: lots of yellow…

Yellow Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

… and gold.

Gold Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

AUGUST will be black(ish). And hopefully some good thunderstorms!

Black flowers & leaves-ThePaintboxGarden

SEPTEMBER will be every lovely shade of brown, as in grasses and seedheads.

Brown Flowers & Leaves-ThePaintboxGarden

OCTOBER will be jack-o-lanternly, clockworkly-orange.

Orange Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

And I’ll throw in peach (even though it likes to party with pink, too)…

Peach Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

…and apricot (even though it sometimes hangs out with the gold crowd)…

Apricot Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

… and salmon for a well-rounded fruit & fish diet.

Salmon-Orange Flowers-ThePaintboxGarden

NOVEMBER will be wine or burgundy, because who doesn’t fancy a little vino in dreary November.

Wine Flowers & Leaves-ThePaintboxGarden

DECEMBER will be silver, as in bells, hi-ho, and Long John.

Silver Leaves-ThePaintboxGarden

And that’s a promise!