Radiant Redbuds

In my second blog looking at trees native to eastern North America, I’m focusing on a crowd favourite: eastern redbud, Cercis canadensis (as well as a few of its overseas cousins). One of my great botanical thrills was driving through North Carolina in early spring 2003 and seeing the spectacular combination of flowering dogwood (Cornus florida) with redbud in the woods along the highway. This photo from my slide film days shows these two native partners at their flowering peak.

I wish I could say that eastern redbud is native to Ontario, but that is not the case unless you count a reported single sighting in 1892 by botanist John Macoun of a tree on the south shore of Pelee Island (which is itself the most southerly piece of land in Canada). Nevertheless, redbuds grow very well in gardens in southern Ontario, particularly if they’re sourced in Michigan where their hardiness is more assured than those from more southern climes. They reach about 30 ft (9 m) in height and spread. That considerable width, especially, means they’re not always the best choice for a very small garden, though they can be pruned to maintain the desired shape. I love the redbuds that grow at Toronto Botanical Garden, below.  

Redbud is from the legume family, Fabaceae, so its magenta-pink flowers resemble its familiar cousins like sweet pea, lupine and runner bean. In a good year, the clusters literally cloak the branches.  Like many other legumes, the flowers are ‘papilionaceous’, from the Latin papilion for butterfly and describing the shape of the corolla. They are also ‘cauliferous’, meaning they emerge directly from the branches before the leaves are produced.  But unlike many other legumes which bear compound leaves, redbud leaves are simple and heart-shaped.

Redbud flowers are edible, rich in Vitamin C and especially good in salads. According to Mother Earth News, they “have a delicious flavor that is like a green bean with a lemony aftertaste”. They are also excellent sources of nectar and pollen for early bees, and used by native bees like this cellophane bee (Colletes inaequalis) in Toronto…..

…. and also honey bees (Apis mellifera), provided temperatures are warm enough for them to fly. This one was near the hives at the Toronto Botanical Garden.

There is a white-flowered form (C. canadensis f. alba) which looks especially beautiful when planted amidst pink-flowered redbuds.

It is also popular with bees, like this bumble bee queen.

At the Toronto Botanical Garden, there is a lovely raised copse of assorted redbuds underplanted with spring bulbs.

Cascading over the stone wall in the photo above is C. canadensis ‘Covey’ or Lavender Twist™, a small, weeping eastern redbud found in Cornelia Covey’s garden in Westfield, NY in the 1960s and propagated and patented by Tim Brotzman. It is perfectly placed in this garden, below.

There are several good cultivars of eastern redbud, if your taste runs to coloured foliage. ‘Forest Pansy’ is one of the oldest. Found originally in 1947 at Forest Nursery in McMinnville, Tennessee, it was patented in 1965.  In spring and early summer it is a rich, wine-red, but I love standing under it later in the season when it has lost some of its red anthocyanins pigments and takes on this mottled look.

‘Ruby Falls’, below, is a cross between ‘Covey’ and ‘Forest Pansy’. It’s a small tree, 6 ft (2 m) tall and 4 ft (1.3 m) wide.

I photographed luminous C. canadensis ‘Hearts of Gold’ at wonderful Chanticleer Garden near Philadelphia, my very favourite garden in the U.S. (If you haven’t been to Chanticleer, have a read of my 2-part blog starting here.)  ‘Hearts of Gold’ with its large, chartreuse-yellow leaves was discovered in spring 2002 in Greensboro, N. Carolina by Jon Roethling (now director of Reynolda Gardens in Winston-Salem).   

When I was visiting the United States Botanic Garden in Washington DC in June 2017, I was entranced by the beautiful foliage of Cercis canadensis ‘JN2’ or Rising Sun™, below. Long past flowering, I was treated to the sight of apricot-orange emerging leaves, changing to yellow, then chartreuse, then dark green.  With a 12-ft (3.6m) height and 8-ft (2.4m)  spread, this redbud was found in 2006 and introduced by Ray and Cindy Jackson of Jackson Nursery in Belvedere, TN.

The abundant fruit pods of redbuds are called ‘siliques’, from the Latin word siliqua, meaning a pod or husk. It is defined as a long dry, fruit (seed capsule) with its length measuring more than twice the width, consisting of two fused carpels that separate when ripe.  I found the eastern redbud, below, loaded with seedpods in Toronto’s Mount Pleasant Cemetery one August.

This is that same tree in the cemetery in autumn, showing off its bright yellow fall colour.

There are two other varieties of North American redbud:  Texas redbud, C. canadensis var. texensis and Mexican redbud, C. canadensis var. mexicana.  I found the latter with its frilly, circular leaves and deep-pink ‘siliques’ at the University of California Berkeley Botanical Garden.

The native European redbud is Cercis siliquastrum from the Mediterranean, its Latin specific epithet chosen by Linnaeus to denote those siliqua.  When I was on my wonderful botanical tour of Greece in autumn 2019, I found redbuds putting out a second flowering in Thermopylae, scene of the historic 480 BC battle between the Persians and Spartans.    

And I found it flowering in the pouring rain in the countryside in Attica.

On a long-ago trip to Paris, there it was in the garden of the Tuileries, below.

Back to North America, I was visiting the Santa Barbara Botanical Garden in March 2014 and was delighted to capture an Anna’s hummingbird (Calypte anna) nectaring in the flowers of the western redbud (Cercis occidentalis).  This is usually a multi-stemmed shrub and about half the size of eastern redbud and the leaves are more round.

Honey bees were enjoying the western redbud flowers as well.

I found Chinese redbud (Cercis chinensis), below, at RHS Wisley in England way back in 1992. Although it is listed as much taller (49 ft or 15m) than eastern redbud, it evidently usually grows in the wild as a multi-stemmed shrub.

While visiting Van Dusen Botanical Garden in Vancouver in May 2014, I found C. chinensis ‘Avondale’ in flower in their Asian collection.  A fairly small tree introduced by Duncan and Davies Nursery in Avondale, New Zealand, it grows about 10 ft (3m) tall x 6 ft (2m) wide.

On May 4, 2019, I photographed a dense, multi-stemmed shrub labelled Cercis gigantea at the late plantswoman Francisca Darts’s garden, Darts Hill Garden Park in Surrey, B.C. (below).  In ‘Trees and Shrubs Online’, authors Ross Bayton and John Grimshaw write: “This species is enigmatic. There is no record of the publication of the name in either the International Plant Names Index (www.ipni.org) or the International Legume Database & Information Service (www.ildis.org), and it is not described in the (currently draft) Flora of China treatment, and yet it appears in the catalogues of several nurseries and botanic gardens…. The limited information available via the internet suggests that C. gigantea is similar to C. chinensis but has much larger leaves and a more vigorous growth rate. Plants originating from seed collected as C. chinensis during the 1980 Sino-American Botanical Expedition ( western Hubei) were later identified as C. gigantea by Dr Ted Dudley at the US National Arboretum…. supporting this supposition of similarity between the two taxa.”

I will leave you with my photo of eastern redbud in the Japanese Garden at Denver Botanic Gardens from April 28, 2018, and the words of naturalist Donald Culross Peattie — always the romantic — from his ‘A Natural History of Trees of Eastern and Central North America’.  “When the redbud flowers, the still leafless deciduous woods display its charms down every vista; it shines in the somber little groves of Scrub Pine; it troops up the foothills of the Appalachians; it steps delicately down towards swampy ground in the coastal plain, flaunts its charms beside the red clay wood roads and along the old rail fences of the piedmont. Inconspicuous in summer and winter, Redbud shows us in spring how common it is.”    

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…

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… 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!

Mad About Magenta

I haven’t finished weeding my back garden. No one really sees it much at this time of year, and even I am away from it for long periods of time in late summer.  But I’m happy to be here right now because my new phloxes are in flower.  The plants are young yet, but putting on a nice August show in the weedy pond garden.  And guess what?  They’re that rich shade of magenta that “experts” used to warn new gardeners about: the much-maligned hue to which Phlox paniculata would “revert”, given half a chance.

Magenta phlox in my back garden

Well, I declare here and now that I am head-over-heels about the colour magenta. I wear it, throw it around my neck, and pull it down over my head in snowy winter.  To me, it is the colour of the jewel I would want to find in buried treasure.  And I dearly love all magenta flowers, neon-bright though they may be.

Row 1:  Triumph Tulip ‘Passionale’ (Tulipa), Armenian Cranesbill (Geranium psilostemon), Rose Campion (Lychnis coronaria), ‘Robert Poore’ Garden Phlox (Phlox paniculata)  Row 2:  Chinese Ground Orchid (Bletilla striata), ‘Soprano Light Purple’ African Daisy (Osteospermum), Everlasting Pea (Lathyrus latifolius), ‘Scorpion’ Beebalm (Monarda didyma) Row 3:  Persian Cornflower (Centaurea dealbata), Hardy Gladiolus (Gladiolus communis ssp. byzantinus), Persian Shield (Strobilanthes dyerianus), ‘Purple Dome’ Aster (Aster novae-angliae)

Row 1: Triumph Tulip ‘Passionale’ (Tulipa), Armenian Cranesbill (Geranium psilostemon), Rose Campion (Lychnis coronaria), ‘Robert Poore’ Garden Phlox (Phlox paniculata)
Row 2: Chinese Ground Orchid (Bletilla striata), ‘Soprano Light Purple’ African Daisy (Osteospermum), Everlasting Pea (Lathyrus latifolius), ‘Scorpion’ Beebalm (Monarda didyma)
Row 3: Persian Cornflower (Centaurea dealbata), Hardy Gladiolus (Gladiolus communis ssp. byzantinus), Persian Shield (Strobilanthes dyerianus), ‘Purple Dome’ Aster (Aster novae-angliae)

As colour names go, it’s a rather strange one, and not part of the traditional artist’s colour wheel by which we classify primary, secondary and tertiary colours.  Industrially, magenta was one of the first synthetic aniline dyes, from coal tar, and described in this 1868 book titled On Aniline and its Derivatives, A Treatise Upon the Manufacture of Aniline and Aniline Colours,by M. Reimann:  “Magenta was first known under the name fuchsine, which name is still general in France and Germany. The name is taken from the name of a flower having a colour very similar to magenta, the fuchsia codinea. From it fuchsiasine was first formed, which was then soon abbreviated to fuchsine.  The colour was introduced into commerce about the same time as the battles of Magenta and Solferino; hence the name now most generally used to denote this bright bluish red colouring matter.”

Magenta can arrive in the garden in early spring, courtesy of the ultra-hardy small-flowered rhododendron, ‘PJM’, whose blossoms can admittedly be a little jarring when sited near equally strident yellow forsythia.  Much better to give ‘PJM’ a carpet of deep blue scilla or grape hyacinths.

Rhododendron  'PJM'

 

As the spring season goes on, you can paint with magenta tulips, such as the Triumph variety ‘Don Quichotte’, shown below in a stunning ménage-a-trois at the Montreal Botanical Garden with red ‘Cherry Delight‘ and salmon-orange ‘Temple of Beauty‘ tulips.

Tulipa 'Don Quichotte'

 And it’s the assertive hue of the Armenian cranesbill, Geranium psilostemon, which always seems happiest to me nestled in luxuriant green foliage, as it is here at the Toronto Botanical Garden, with just a little lavender G. ‘Brookside’ geranium to keep it company.

TBG-G. psilostemon & G. 'Brookside'

There are many magenta-toned roses, especially those derived from R. rugosa and R. gallica parentage.  Most, like the rugosa hybrid ‘Hansa’ below, emit a strong perfume.  The magenta centaureas make good companions for these early-season roses.

Rosa rugosa 'Hansa'

And yes, there is the majestic magenta of summer phlox, like this spectacular and mildew-resistant ‘Robert Poore’ variety at the Toronto Botanical Garden.
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Phlox paniculata 'Robert Poore'1

If you want an explosion of fireworks in your summer garden, look no further than the zingy magenta flowers of Gomphrena ‘Fireworks’, shown here with Verbena bonariensis.

Gomphrena 'Fireworks' with Verbena bonariensis

With late summer comes the rather disobedient (or should I say merely aggressive?) obedient plant, Physostegia virginiana, with its trumpet-shaped flowers, a lovely magenta companion for purple asters and goldenrod.

Physostegia & Aster

And of course there are the many magenta-hued dahlias, which I’ve enjoyed using in fall arrangements, especially paired with the rich orange hues of autumn.

Magenta-dahlias

Finally, as the gardening season draws to its frosty conclusion, magenta bestows a true treasure, in the shimmering fruit of the various beautyberry species, including the lovely North American native Callicarpa americana, below.  Magenta the magnificent may have its critics, but I cannot imagine a more beautiful way to dress a garden with jewels for its final scene.

Callicarpa americana 1