casa coniglio

Hymenocallis is a genus of subtropical bulbs, commonly known as the Peruvian daffodil. Personally, I don't think that it looks like a daffodil at all, given its large stature (the flower scape is about 4 feet tall on mine) and large broad leaves. It looks more like a crinum or amaryllis to me. Hymenocallis is native to southern US and South America, and there are dozens of species (check out, for example, the Plant Delights web site). I'm not sure what species this is, being a Lowe's purchase (and you know how well those bulbs-in-a-bin are labelled). I am surprised how hardy it is for such a tropical looking plant, the bulbs surviving my winters which drop into the teens at night. This plant remained after I decided to move them all to a wetter part of the garden (the plants normally grow in very wet ares or even swamps in some species), although in my attempt to move it, I had sliced off most of the bulb. I was surprised when it grew back. This last winter was remarkably cold, but this plant, next to the house, did fine. The other plants, in a shadier and colder area of the garden, must have had some serious winter damage, since the only started growing a week or two ago, and looking rather feeble in comparison.

When I first planted Artemesia versicolor (the seafoam sage) it looked so good that I wanted more. I took a number of cuttings, but none rooted. I tried several times that summer, only to watch after several weeks, the cuttings turn black. Seeing adventitious roots near the bottoms of the stems, I took cuttings low down, and failed again. I ended up purchasing a couple more plants. The following year, in early spring as I was cutting the plants down for the spring cleanup, I realized that the plants spread, and in doing so, rooted at the base of the stems. I discovered that division was easy. So easy in fact, that now I have more of the plant than I know what to do with. I had to throw away a bunch of divisions (gasp!) as the plants aged, needed to be divided and old woody centers discarded. This is when I discovered the trouble with tribbles. What to do with all those healthy divisions? You can only give away so much. Then there’s the compost pile. Ah well.

Propagating plants is one of the most joyous things that I do. Finding that first root coming out of the bottom of a pot of cuttings, or that first seed sprouting is as exciting as seeing that first bloom, and sometimes, dare I say it, even more thrilling. It is more satisfying than making divisions, the results of which seem a foregone conclusion though producing a more uniform appearance in the garden since with cuttings the mother plant is large and the cuttings are small. But dividing plants seems to be much more limited in the numbers possible to produce (not that I need numbers).

Of course, because taking cuttings is a chancy effort, more so in some plants than others, I take many more cuttings than I’ll actually need. Then there’s the problem of what to do with the extras once they are rooted. It’s better to have more success than hoped for than less, since less leaves gaps in the plan. But it is overwhelmingly heartbreaking to throw out the rooted cuttings. After all, I had watched them for weeks, sometimes months, attending to their every need and begging, BEGGING, them to put down roots. Then, when they do, how can I throw them out? Ingrate.

Recently I’ve been experimenting with rooting cuttings of desert willow (Chilopsis linearis). I’ve had trouble with these for years, but this year I’ve discovered a method that is nearly foolproof. Now, in just a few months, I have a dozen tiny trees, and room for...none.

So I’ve been thinking about the idea given limited funds, what plants I would choose for a garden that I could produce with a few plants and the ability to grow cutting, seed, or division. Obviously, the cuttings would be from plants that are too variable from seed. The plants that I find most satisfying to grow from cuttings would have to include Salvia greggii - it is so fast that given a single four-inch pot, there can be dozens of good-sized plants by the end of a single summer. Salvia ‘Indigo Spires’ is a joy to throw cuttings from (and although I believe “throw” is the proper term, in this case it is almost literally true), since roots form within a week and plants grow quickly. One year I had a storm and it knocked a branch off. I found two completely wilted pieces in the sun the next day. I put them in a glass of water and a few hours later they perked up. They both rooted. Unfortunately, since I have limited room, and plants grow quite large (four feet tall and wide) there is room only for one. I was pleased to discover that the turkish speedwell,Veronica tauricula, is quick to produce roots from cuttings taken in the spring. I also discovered that Nepeta ‘Walker’s Low’ seems to produce roots faster than it takes the potting mix to settle in the pot. Rosemary is surprisingly easy from cuttings, though some cultivars are more difficult than others. It takes a few weeks for these to produce roots.

More challenging (but because of this, more satisfying) plants, include the lavenders. The first year I took cuttings, it took several months to see the first roots, and by then it was late fall and I had to coddle the tiny plants indoors over the winter. Penstemon linarioides takes a while from cuttings, dividing the plants is more reasonable, and this year I had an overwhelming crop of self sown seedlings. Penstemon heterophyllus has a high rate of success, although it takes some months. I’ve had variable success with Euphorbia characias and the hybrid ‘Red Wing’. I think I might be doing better this year, as the excitement of the day was a root peeking out of the drain hole of a pot of cuttings (see above).

For many plants, of course, cuttings won’t work. Grasses for example. Fortunately most grasses are easy to divide. Trees. Many trees are impossible to propagate from cuttings. These would need to be purchased.

Growing plants from cuttings is so satisfying that it’s making me think about doing it as a business. But that would take the joy out of it, and put the pressure on. So, maybe not an option.

I have developed new appreciation for those who take those incredible photos of hummingbirds. It takes a lot of patience, the ability to hold still, and a lot of time. I guess some hummers are less shy than others. Although the hummers love agastache, and they seem to always be around it, they never seem to be in quite the precise location to take a good shot. Oh well, maybe another day. This guy is now the king of the roost, chasing away any competitors for the sweet nectar.

If you were to choose one plant for your entire garden, what would you choose? How about four? The first comes from the Sunset magazine commentary on mass planting a single plant. The second comes from an on-going Horticulture series “If I could have four plants for...” So no fair choosing a genus which has many species, or a plant with many cultivars. What if you could choose only one plant cultivar for a garden? What if you could only choose four?

How could I possibly choose one plant? I’m a plant collector. I throw in plants everywhere. I choose plants not to fill a design concept, but simply because I’m curious how a plant grows, I want to see how it changes with the season. I have several hundred species in my front yard alone. The choice would have to recognize the garden setting, the scale in relation to the space and the intentions of the designer, the season (if any) for bloom, and the form of the plant (what looks good in mass or as a single plant).

And yet, I’m surprised at how easily I could choose one plant. Without a doubt the genus would be lavender. The cultivar would be more difficult. Probably ‘Grosso’. Surprised? After all, it’s such an obvious choice, common really. Why would I choose something so banal? Because there is a reason it’s so common. Many reasons, in fact. First of all, it is easy to grow. This in itself may make you think that I wouldn’t choose it, but although I do enjoy the more challenging plants, I also appreciate something that performs. I also chose it because it is a multi-use plant. It is attractive throughout the year. The plant is evergreen, and has nice form. It is tough, requires little water. It is fragrant, and can be used in cooking. ‘Grosso’ has a rich color and blooms for several months at least. It is a plant I can get my shears into and enjoy pruning. ‘Grosso’ has lax flower stems which I like.



I almost chose Lavendula angustifolia ‘Hidcote’ like my friend Anne did, but I like the long wands of the intermedias to play with, and the floppy nature, even if it doesn’t have as lovely a shade of color, or as sweet a scent.



The only downside to lavender that it doesn’t grow well in the shade, and the shady areas of the garden, in this theoretical one-plant garden, would be barren. Shade and form for the garden would be hardscape, such as a ramada and levels. But as a single plant garden, I think that Lavandula x intermedia 'Grosso' could hold its own.

I considered choosing Calamogrostis x acutifolia ‘Karl Foerster.’ Again, this plant is very common, and I’ve seen plenty of plantings where its appearance is forgettable. But in my garden, it is visual music. It moves in any breeze like a dance of joy, and even the sharp gusts don’t beat it down. It is the kind of plant that looks better in mass, although it can hold it’s own solo if in the right setting. It’s of a stature that I can relate to, for even though it is a tall 4-5 feet (irrigated), it is very narrow. Its downsides are that it isn’t edible or fragrant or drought tolerant (it needs some, but not a lot of irrigation). I suppose I could have chosen Indian Grass (Sorghastrum nutans) which in my limited trial is nearly identical to Karl, but is native to this area, and would use less water. Deergrass (Muhlenbergia rigens) also came to mind, of different form, but similar benefits and detriments. I almost also chose Italian cypress (Cupressus sempervirens), imagining a courtyard filled with a number of them. I’d bet children would love to play among them.

What if I were to choose four? With four, I could chose plants that contribute to an overall design. I could choose a combination of tree, shrub, and herbaceous plant. Working on this, I find this a much more difficult exercise than the single plant choice and spend way too much time agonizing over my choices.

I considered a garden of native or near-native plants. I’d start out with a bunch of Yucca rostrata, with dramatic non-branching trunks. In fact, this would be good for a single-plant garden. The rest, I suspect would change depending on my mood. Chocolate flower for fragrance, Purple opuntia, and Penstemon clutei for spring flowers and winter color. It would be a glorious riot of brash color in the spring.

Being the mediterraneophile that I am, though, I’d likely choose something like olive, cypress, rosemary and lavender. Or lemon instead of the olive, which although is associated with the mediterranean, actually comes from Asia. I may also substitute star jasmine (Trachelospermum jasminoides) for the rosemary. It’s one of those fragrances that I associate with bliss.

My tiny lemon tree.


My tiny olive tree.


Flowers and friend on star jasmine (Trachelospermum jasminoides 'Madison').


I realize that these are probably not the most appropriate choices for the region (as opposed to my previous choices), but in my tiny courtyard, why not? Isn't that what a sequestered garden space is for? And of course, I’d have to adjust this to plants that will grow here in Albuquerque. Yes, the lavender will. So will the cypress and rosemary (I’d choose Rosemary ‘Blue Spires’ for its sculptural form) But not olive, or lemon, or star jasmine. How about Cypress, the Windmill Palm (Trachycarpus), rosemary and lavender? Yeah, I could live with that.

Windmill Palm (Trachycarpus fortunei) in my garden.



I’d proposed the same question to some friends of mine. The rules of the game went like this:
1. You have to choose a single cultivar, no fair choosing an enormous genus. 
2. You can choose a single species if cultivars aren't available. I.e. you can't choose "rose", but would have to specify, like Rosa 'Iceberg'. But you could choose a species such as Berlandiera lyrata since there are no cultivars. 
3. All the plants in the garden have to be identical.  Imagine that there is no limit on the number of plants of that cultivar that can be planted. Or as few as you like. 
It would be your own garden, not for someone else. As such the climate is where you live.

An optional extension was to choose a four-plant garden.

Craig responded first, to say that he refrained from submission “...no one would want just one plant in their garden...”

Anne chose Lavandula angustifolia ‘Hidcote” which as I’ve mentioned, is right up my alley.

Since David lives in three locations, he chose Dasylirion wheeleri for El Paso, Nolina texana for the Albuquerque foothills, and Yucca elata for central Albuquerque.  Now that’s some serious desert drama in a single plant garden.
He chose to do the four-plant extension, combining plants with complementary form and color, adding to the single plant choices. I’m imagining each garden, and each would be a delight.
For El Paso: Viguiera stenoloba, Tiquilia greggii, Muhlenbergia porteri
For the Albuquerque foothills: Muhlenbergia porteri, Melampodium leucanthum, Arctosyaphylos pungens
For Albuquerque central: Stanleya pinnata, Larrea tridentata, Penstemon eatoni

I expected Ted to bow out, but he came through famously. He chose the Claret cup cactus, Echinocereus triglochidiatus, siting qualities of evergreen, sculptural, attractive in masses, and attractive to hummingbirds as reasons for his choice. “Massed, surrounded by gravel, it is my Zen garden plant for the day.”

Rick’s response was so poetic, that I had to include it whole.

“I am within this garden, not looking at it from outside.  It's a garden that offers protection - dappled shade and a sense of enclosure.  It offers sustenance; a fruit.  It expresses the passage of time and cyclic nature of life in fragrant blossom, changing leaves and the stark and spare beauty of a structure laid bare in winter and open to a warming sun.  Fallen leaves give a soft place to lie, protect and regenerate the soil.  A company of birds and critters share its gifts.  I'd be happy to lie under a tree in this apple orchard, watching a changing summer sky.  "Ah, perchance to dream..."”

Sigh, I’m almost ready to change my choice.





Addendum: Craig caved in to peer pressure, and chose Pinyon Pine for a single plant garden. Thanks, Craig!

(Note: these are NOT my photos, but from the Sunset magazine website)

Recently in the Sunset magazine blog Fresh Dirt, Sharon Cohoon wrote about mass planting (July 9, 2008) . “Here’s why landscape designers keep telling us to plant in mass,” was the headline and showed two photos of beautiful gardens with mass plantings. There’s no denying that a well designed mass planting in its prime is a sight to behold. There is certainly the drama and impact of volume, so that if you didn’t notice a plant among the rest of the beauties, this style of planting won’t let you miss it. And if you missed the key words among all the others, let me repeat. “Well designed.”

This doesn’t mean that it has to be professionally designed. It's just that not every situation will look good with mass plantings, and not any plant will work in any situation. Simply planting a lot of your favorite plant will not necessarily look good. I’m thinking about the sidewalk strips that I see that are planted with a row of scraggly hybrid tea roses (America’s favorite flower). Sure there may be a nice flower or two (or a dozen) on them, but as a garden? No.

You may end up with an industrial appearance, with rows of a single type of plant in a narrow strip. (I’m thinking about a garden planted only with Indian Hawthorn - Raphiolepis indica). Unless, of course, you want that Home Depot parking lot look. You may also end up with a shopping mall look (or worse) if planted with annuals like red bedding geraniums. It can look short on imagination. It certainly is no improvement on the “one of everything” style (which I am almost guilty of). What it says is “I didn’t know what to plant, and I really don’t care as long as it is alive and doesn’t take much care. So I just bought what was pretty at the warehouse store and filled the space.” Which isn’t so far removed from the “one of everything” mentality. By the way, a “one of everything” garden can be quite beautiful if well done. It’s called a cottage garden. Not that I’m defending what my friend David calls a “kerplunker” garden, ahem.

Another problem with large scale mass plantings is what happens if a plant dies. What happens to the design if a hole is created? Does it leave an eyesore? This depends upon the type of plant. If, for example, the mass planting is of agave planted on a grid, and one flowers (and dies), a gaping hole is left in the design. Sure you can replace it with another one, but is it the same size as the others? What if you can’t find one? Trees have this problem as well, such as in an allee when one tree dies. Plants grow. You can’t replace a 30 foot tall tree very easily.

With mass plantings, though, there are benefits other than impact. There is economy of scale. With a mass of the same plants, there is uniformity of maintenance. The irrigation is the same, trimming, clean-up, mulching, and other care can all occur at the same time. For the mass planting of feather grass, the whole thing can be mowed in the spring, which you couldn’t do if they were interspersed with shrubs. It’s like having a field of corn, which, fortunately or unfortunately, it can look like.

So, hopefully you have not been discouraged from doing a mass planting. But how do you plan for a mass planting?

Choose your plants carefully. Not all plants will work well in a mass planting. Some look their best in a mass planting. Others don’t look good in a mass planting. Some work in either situation. Imagine the first garden, a mass planting of lavender, but replaced with something else. Would it have the same character and impact if it was planted with Perovskia atriplicifolia (Russian sage)? I think not. The irregular spiky outline of Russian sage would not only make the planting look messy, but would also interfere with the contrast between the upright cypress and olive trees and the rounded shapes of the lavender. Although lavender would be the obvious choice for this mediterranean-style garden in a vineyard, other options would be of similar form. Convolvolus cneorum comes to mind, with silky leaves which flash silver when the wind blows and white morning-glory flowers. Cistus x cobariensis would be a good option also. Culinary sage would have similar stature and would bloom a similar color, on a coarser textured plant and a different fragrance.

The key is that these plants would be chosen for their form as it relates to the whole design. They would also be chosen for their year-round attractiveness. Keep in mind that with a mass planting, while the impact is impressive during peak season, the same goes for the down season. And with larger scale, bad ideas are bigger and more expensive to replace. This doesn’t mean you have to use only backbone plants (what I call plants that don’t change much from season to season like holly). But imagine again, that first garden planted with peonies instead of lavender. Their forms would be similar, it would be terribly dramatic when in bloom, and still attractive through summer. In the winter, the ground would be bare. Maybe not the effect you’d desire, unless the garden were not the main garden and could be visited primarily at peak. For with a mass planting such as this, when the season is over, it’s over. I love bearded iris gardens, but I don’t want to look at withering foliage most of the year in order to have that glorious month. At what season do you want the garden to have maximum impact?

Which goes to say (obviously) that these types of gardens are not for plant collectors. Although I dream of having a garden such as this, the reality is that it would only work if it were my second home (yes, this is dreaming).

There’s nothing to follow up the main show except the form and structure of the garden. Notice that the lavender garden has nice form even when the lavender is not in bloom. There is the gentle curve, the varying heights of interest in the olive trees and cypress as well as their varying forms. But not too much. In the second photo, if the grasses are gone, the interest is carried primarily by the house with trees and the sculpture. When the grasses are trimmed in the spring, the garden would look like just about any other suburban house.

What plants work best with mass plantings? It depends on the situation. For gardens such as these, where the garden is designed around one plant, the choice must be carefully made. As I said before, there should be four-season interest. Plants need to have uniform size, form, and structure (seedlings may have variability), but not so much that they look industrial. Look to the gardens of Piet Oudolf or Oehme & Van Sweden for examples. There’s a reason why they have their signature plants (such as ‘Goldstrum’ rudbeckia with ‘Autumn Joy’ sedum and miscanthus).

More on plant choices later. Feel free to contribute your choices.

It's time for the Agastache show. It began a couple of weeks ago, with the first blooms appearing. The show on some plants is getting into swing, others ('Desert Sunrise' and 'Ava) are a month or so out. The hummingbirds are happy. The colors in the photos seem to be more vibrant than the real thing, so be warned.

Agastache 'Firebird' usually opens its first blooms in the beginning of June, and as such is one of the first to show. As the season progresses, the spikes become more dense with flowers. Plants are relatively short and bushy for an agastache, and leaves are green. Although I have had trouble growing it from cuttings, after a few years, I found I was able to divide it.


Here's the same plant last year in October.


I bought this David Salman (High Country Gardens) hybrid 'Orange Flare' this year, and it was already in bloom. Perhaps it is just a greenhouse effect, but it hasn't stopped blooming. If it begins to bloom in April in the garden I'll be impressed. I'm not as impressed with the color - it is a washed out kind of orange, although in the cooler weather we had in the spring, the color was brighter and more salmon. It is 3/4 A. rupestris, and looks and smells like it. I'm hardly seeing any of the 1/4 A. cana. Flowers are not as bright as the pure A. rupestris in my garden. Leaves are grey.


Agastache rupestris is just beginning to bloom, but it may be late because it receives absolutely no irrigation. The ants seem to love it. Leaves are quite grey, and calyces are purple.


Agastache 'Acapulco Salmon & Pink' is another David Salman hybrid. The flowers look just like the photo in the catalog. It began blooming early, even before 'Firebird' but with just a few flowers, and only just came into full bloom. So far, it is a small plant, and the flowers are brightly colored. It doesn't have the bushy stature of 'Firebird' this year, but we'll see what next year brings.


High Country Gardens has highly touted Agastache 'Ava' as its finest hybrid. I'm not denying that it is a nice plant. The first year, despite being trampled by the stucco-istas, it grew to more than 3 feet tall and lived up to its claim of having colored calyces. The color is a vibrant red-purple, which as you know is not a color that I am particularly fond of. The spikes eventually became quite abundant as fall progressed. It is the latest blooming of the agastache that I grow, and right now there is only a hint of buds forming. As a hybrid of A. cana and A. barberi, plants require more water than other agastache I grow. These photos are from last year and the colors in the photos are muted compared to the real thing.

This is Phragmipedium Belle Hogue Point (Eric Young (besseae x longifolium) x caudatum). Perhaps not the longest petaled Belle, but it’s awfully nice anyway. I just noticed on OrchidWeb.com that they are selling seedlings for $125. I guess I'm not getting another one any time soon.

Lavandula 'Grosso' and Artemesia versicolor against west wall.


There is a wall in my somewhat protected courtyard that faces west. In the winter, the heat collected by the wall is rather nice, making the courtyard a bit warmer than the more exposed areas which in the late afternoon are still only slightly above freezing. In the summer, however, that same warmth collection can make the area a blazing inferno. It is a particularly challenging place to garden. Plants have to be particularly tough to withstand the heat and blisteringly bright sunlight. You’d think that this would be a good place to put the borderline hardy plants, but despite the warmer afternoons, the temperature plummets at night when icy winter winds suck the heat right out and it gets just about as cold as the rest of the garden.

Many of the first plants I planted here suffered miserably, being unable to tolerate the reflected summer heat and the pronounced winter temperature swings. The daily freeze/thaw that occurs is even more taxing on plant tissues than the more constant cold that keeps the plants dormant. Although the silvery foliage of Rosemary ‘Arp’ tolerated the summer heat, the winter temperature swings caused even this hardiest of rosemaries to suffer tip burn. Salvia officinalis purpurascens fried to a crisp. Echinacea wilted miserably and showed unhappy brown edges on leaves and flowers. Old rose ‘Madame Isaac Pereire’ grew well, but the heat arrived just as the first flowers opened, making crispy dried rose buds. Sedum ‘Vera Jameson’ turned from its renowned dusky purple to green, then to brown. Penstemon ‘Husker Red’ showed barely a hint of red during the summer, being burned out by the sun. Trachelospermum jasminoides (star jasmine) survived one winter, not the next.

It is through trial and error that I’ve discovered what will survive in this challenging climate. I could have chosen a garden of native plants, many which would have easily tolerated the climate, but instead I wanted to go with a historical idea of the courtyard, which is a place for exotic plants collected during one’s travels. I desired to have a mediterranean plants in the courtyard, and figured that the relative winter warmth would help them survive. I had also decided that my small courtyard would be where I used the most water, though certainly not thirsty by any means. Perhaps I was lucky in wishing for mediterranean plants, since most are naturally quite heat tolerant, though not particularly cold tolerant.



Salvia coahuilensis, Allium christophii, Rosmarinus 'Salem', Artemesia versicolor against west wall.


One of my first discoveries was that although the temperature drops in the winter were dramatic, the soil retained some of that heat through the night. This meant that although the above-ground parts of a plant suffered, the underground portions were provided for more moderate climate. The plants that could most take advantage of this circumstance are the borderline bulbs. The quality certainly wasn’t enough to push a climate zone, but it was enough for some. I quickly found that it wasn’t enough for winter-growing bulbs such as freesia and Scilla peruviana, but it was enough for Hymenocallis, calla lilies, and cannas (though cannas are not of a color that I desired for this blue and white garden). Agapanthus seems to desire a yet more moderate winter, and a cooler summer, so although they survive in shaded areas, they are never truly happy. I’m sure there are more if I really tried to find more, such as the crocosmias, maybe some gingers, dahlias, tulbaghia, crinum, gladiolus and even Hippeastrum (Amaryllis) which grows in sheltered nooks around the city.

But as pleasurable as they are, I didn’t want a garden based solely on bulbs. That would leave me with bare ground throughout the winter, and though I love the look of these secret gems bursting from the ground in the spring, I couldn’t tolerate the thought of the long months of bleakness.

One of my first successes, after my series of miserable failures, was the ‘Seafoam’ artemesia (Artemesia versicolor). The leaves are a delicate silvery filagree, growing to about 8-12 inches in height, not counting flower stems. Like the other artemesias, the flowers aren’t the thing, its the leaves. This delicate looking plant is instead a rugged toughie when it comes to heat and drought, unlike ‘Silver Mound’ artemesia which melts in the heat. It is also unlike the garden thugs of Artemesia ludoviciana varieties (‘Silver King’ and ‘Silver Queen’), or Artemesia ‘Silver Frost’ which in the pictures looks similar (as described by Lauren Springer, who describes them in her great book Passionate Gardening, and who introduced Artemesia versicolor from England). Artemesia versicolor behaves more like a diminutive ‘Powis Castle’, rooting from the creeping stems. Before I realized that it spread this way, I tried to grow Seafoam from cuttings - they failed each time. It’s easy from divisions, however. Soon I was planting it everywhere in my garden and now it’s my default plant for difficult places.

I tried several varieties of rosemary against the wall. After I grew tired of the way ‘Arp’ burned in the winter, had rather inconspicuous flowers (pale blue against grey), and required frequent pruning to keep it from flopping, I replaced it with ‘Tuscan Blue’ which despite the deliciously lemony foliage, also suffered from tip burn, and refused to bloom more than a few of its famously blue flowers. After a few seasons, this has been replaced with ‘Salem’ which despite this winter’s ferocious cold, did not show a bit of tip burn. Unfortunately, it also did not show a bit of bloom. We’ll see what this next year brings. In other parts of the courtyard, ‘Gorizia’ has survived the winter beautifully with textural, sculptural form and pinkish blue flowers. ‘Blue Spires’ has brighter blue flowers and similarly upright form, but of smaller texture. Pictures are in earlier posts.

Lavender stoechas ‘Otto Quast’ did well against the wall until trampled by the stucco-istas, and I wasn’t delighted by the bracts which are red-purple rather than the blue/violet that I was looking for. This was replaced by a lavender sold to me as ‘Hidcote’ but is clearly not, having long stems and pale calyces rather than the compact stature and vibrant colors of calyx and corolla that Lavandula angustifolia ‘Hidcote’ is famous for. ‘Hidcote Superior’ from High Country Gardens was planted last year, and seems to be surviving the heat as well as any of the lavenders. Other Lavandula stoechas cultivars have been tried, but have not survived the winter. Lavandula x intermedia ‘Provence’ did just fine, and has an exceptional scent, but I’ve had to admit that it grows too large for the space and paler flowers than I desire, the effect being more grey than purple. It will be with great sadness that I will remove it. Another famous intermedia hybrid ‘Grosso’ is slightly more compact, with much darker flowers, a more lax habit and a more camphorous scent than the sweet ‘Provence’.

Despite my failure with Salvia officinalis, other species in the genus have done well. I wish that ‘Indigo Spires’ didn’t wilt quite so dramatically in the afternoon sun, looking like steamed lettuce, but it does perk up once the sun is off the leaves. I’ve moved it to another part of the courtyard that is shaded in the afternoon. I tried replacing it with the newer hybrid ‘Mystic Spires’ which has similar floral color, but ‘Mystic Spires,’ despite, or because of, it’s compact nature, lacks the grace of the long (2 foot) twisted purple flower spikes of ‘Indigo Spires’, and I’ve put another ‘Indigo Spires’ in its place.

An early success was Salvia nemerosa ‘May Night’. Not only did it tolerate heat of the west wall, but nearly always had some bloom until the cold of late November. Salvia ‘Caradonna’ seems to have similar tolerance. Something to keep in mind is that Salvia nemerosa can be a tough plant to remove once it is established. You can dig it up easily enough, but it sprouts from root bits. Salvia coahuilensis has a similar quality in being stoloniferous, but I haven’t tried to remove it. It grows more like Salvia greggii, although with rather sparse but long-blooming rich purple flowers.

I planted Salvia daghestanica since I figured its silvery leaves would protect it from heat. This has in fact proven true, and it has bloomed magnificently this year. It is a plant that takes a few years to get up to speed however, so keep this in mind. Of course mine being trampled by the stucco-istas last year didn’t help either.

The grey leaves of Origanum dictamnus has also helped it survive the blazing sunlight. It is slightly sensitive to winter cold, and I would expect that it wouldn’t survive the winter cold in an exposed site. The leaves are silvery, round, and gorgeously fuzzy, and has the cute hop-like flowers in a reddish purple, which is unfortunately, the color I’m trying to avoid, but the plants are so delightful that I’ll never get rid of it. Origanum ‘Kent Beauty’ has matte spring green leaves which do not tolerate the double direct sun and reflected brilliance of the west wall. It does tolerate the heat and winter cold a few yards away from the wall. Similarly, the olive leaves of O. libanoticum do better away from the wall. O. sipleum although quite charming in its tiny leaves and purple tinged earring bracts suffers from winter cold no matter where I seem to put it. Supposedly it does fine in Santa Fe. Go figure.


Origanum 'Kent Beauty'

The silvery leafed Veronica tauricula does well in this location, having shockingly beautiful blue flowers in early spring. Ballota pseudodictamnus is less of a “pseudo dictamnus” and more of a “pseudo marrubium” in my eyes, but it does have similar nummular silvery leaves, and the benefit of satellite-dish bracts.

Mediterranean Cistus does surprisingly well in this location, shrugging off the heat, and tolerating reasonably well the winter cold, where in other parts of the garden it suffers severely from cold or dies outright. Another mediterranean, Euphorbia characias and its cultivars ‘Redwing’ and ‘Blackbird’ have done just fine in both heat and cold, ‘Blackbird’ even retaining some dark tone to its foliage when other red leaved plants fade to green or burn.

Last but not least, the super-hardy fan palm Trachycarpus fortunei has done well in the winter-protected nook against the house, and tolerates the sunlight and heat without burning. It would be happier with some winter protection.

Although this site was initially frustrating, I’ve discovered enough plants to make for a satisfying area. I’ve even been able to maintain my blue mediterranean theme. It just has taken some trial and error. In finding plants for this area, I’m not heat exhausted yet.


Allium christophii, Lavandula angustifolia 'Hidcote', Cistus 'Anne Palmer', Artemesia versicolor, Penstemon grandiflorus hanging out in the west wing.