Bookish Gardener

Come on and dance with me

Lathyrus odoratus..."He said that her friends just call her 'Sweet Pea.'" Oh, it's January, the month of seed catalogs, and my eyes will be bigger than my stomach—that is, the contents of all the packets of sweet pea seeds that I'll put in the shopping cart will overcrowd the modest four-foot trenches allotted to them alongside the undulating arched trellis that bisects one of my three raised beds. The heirlooms, the Spencers, the one from the monk, the new varieties and hybrids—they are all irresistible.

I've made my share of mistakes in tending to my sweet peas over the seasons, though not the obvious one of letting the Midwestern summer heat and humidity get to them—as long as I'm diligent with watering and feeding, and happily, obsessively picking off the buds as soon as they're on the wane and before they form...peas...they'll chug along through the first touches of light frost and beyond. No, the mistakes I've made have been unforced errors: waiting (i.e. procrastinating, then letting time slip away) later than I should to get the seeds in the ground; forgetting to soak or scrape the seeds before getting them in the ground; pinching the seedlings to encourage branching when they are crowded enough already and this will only delay them reaching the trellis; noticing too late that they've grown so vigorously and thickly that the trellis is about to...too late! topple over.

But each growing season, the sweet peas manage to survive that season's malministrations and reward the garden, and the gardener, with their beauty of form, color, and especially scent, like no other. From the first signs of successful germination, to how could these things have grown three feet already and where is the twine to tether them to the trellis, 

Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight:

With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,

And taper fingers catching at all things,

To bind them all about with tiny rings.

Keats, "I stood tip-toe upon a little hill," 1817.

 

Sow what

Well, I
said

This year would be
different

An end to order-
ing; seed lust border-
ing on a mani-
a for which there's no cure

But then they came

Select Seeds,
Fedco, Pinetree

Tantalizingly
beckoning, siren
songs calling to me

Variegated po-
lygonum kissing over
garden gates

Wave at me pet-
unias

Salvia argentea,
splendens, coccinea
and farinacea to
save me

'Orange Fanta-
sia'
'Bright Lights'
'Black Velvet' and
'Lemon'

'Envy'
my zinnias
and soybeans
of green

The plumèd
celosia and
ama-
ranth love-lies-bleeding

Rows of
merlot for lettuce

Pass down the heirloom
Amish snap peas climb up
when the tulip's in bloom

Snap-
dragons
'Liberty'
launching 'Rocket'

'Dia-
mond' eggplant, 'Burgundy'
okra, squash
'Magda' cousa

Somniferum
pa-
paver,
calendulas,
consolidas, mal-
vas

A hundred packets of seed
You may de-
ride my greed

SO WHAT

Miles and Eddie, I am sow, so sorry.

Seed flats' first bloom

This one really jumped the gun. It's Commelina dianthifolia, a new-to-me zone 7+ perennial (i.e. annual here) that "very often flower[s] in first year from seed," according to the seed packet. Make that "flowers in first quarter from seed," because I started these seeds in early March. We're still getting hard frosts nightly, so I'm loath to set these out in the garden just yet, but it's clearly time to get these out from under the lights and start daytime hardening off. This plant is in the spiderwort family, and the flowers are like a miniature Tradescantia (...and I do mean miniature; the blossom's about half the size of a Nemesia blossom). Given the size, and given that each bloom lasts for only one day (hence one of the plant's common names, dayflower), these will have to be massed for impact, so into a container they will go. Although tender for this region, these plants will grow tubers, which can be lifted, stored and re-upped for future seasons, like dahlias.

Red lupin green seed

             Photo credit: Jessamyn Roll

These are seeds for the dwarf lupin Lupinus polyphyllus 'Lupin Gallery Red', which could pass for mint chutney Nerds candy. (The color made them very easy to find when they *cough* dropped on the floor in the course of my trying to get this photo taken.)

Newly blooming:
Narcissus 'Ice Follies', 'Las Vegas', 'Jenny', and 'Hawera'
Various self-sown pansies
Scilla siberica (slipped my mind!, so I've updated)

Bloomed and done within the past ten days: Iris reticulata 'Cantab', 'Harmony' and 'Pixie'

Worth a look: Wildseed Farms catalog

Uh, I never said I was done, now did I?

A new seed catalog arrived today: Wildseed Farms' "2004 Reference Guide & Seed Catalog", specializing in wildflowers (annual, biennial and perennial), "exotic garden varieties", herbs and native grasses.

It's slender in size with modest production values (definitely not one of your fency-shmency numbers--all the better, in my book). It is packed with information. There's a page with the current USDA Plant Hardiness Map (actually legible!) accompanied by a detailed, color-coded table with spring and fall planting and sowing date recommendations for each zone. Its several pages of information on raising wildflowers cover each step of the site preparation-seed starting-planting-cultivation-seed collection life cycle in such detail that I'm tempted to laminate and bind the pages and add them to my library. The catalog listings are well-organized and, again, include more information than often found even in dedicated plant "manuals": the plant's common name, botanical name, and botanical family; a well-written paragraph description of the plant; and the following plant stats: average planting success percentage; height; days to germination; optimum soil temperature for germination; sowing depth; blooming period; average seeds per pound; seeds per packet; seeding rate per acre; coverage area per ounce; suggested use; and miscellaneous (but useful) notes [for example, on african daisy (dimorphotheca aurantiaca): "The genus name, Dimorphotheca, means 'two shapes of seed' relating to the fact that the plant produces two non-identical seed forms"; on arroyo lupine (lupinus succulentus): "The most water tolerant of all Lupines"; on catchfly (silene armeria): "The stem exudes a sticky sap that captures small insects that try to steal nectar without pollinating the flowers"].

But wait--there's more! Each listing also includes a photo of the flower, an icon for its flower type ("P" in a red box for perennial; "A" in a blue box for annual; "B" in a yellow box for biennial); a map showing the geographic range (continental U.S.) in which the plant naturally occurs or has become adapted; seed price by the pound, quarter-pound, ounce and packet; and (this is my favorite) a photo of the plant in seedling form--the purpose, diplomatically put, being "to enable you to distinguish your wildflowers from unwanted vegetation during the establishment period". Or, er, a helpful guide for us at the lower end of the weed-identification learning curve. I need this guide, if nothing else to avoid the close call I had last season with the dramatic, four-footer that shot up in my annual bed. It was so vigorous, so green, with interesting foliage. What could it be? When flower buds started forming, I became suspicious...they were small, about the size of a BB. A little research and...holy hay fever, Batman! Ragweed, ready to bloom. No doubt I'll see this one again; all my digging and tugging extricated most of a taproot the size of a daikon radish (well, give me license for a little fisherman hyperbole here), but not quite all of it.

It looks like the catalog editor let a frustrated stand-up comedian get his (or her) ya-yas out in the section called "The Cosmos Collection". The tagline: "For the Gardener who Procrastinates!" The plant stat section is labeled "Cosmos Information Overload." Dwarf cosmos are called "The Vertically Challenged Cosmos". And a helpful tip: "If you have trouble growing Cosmos...take up golf!!" Ba-da-boom. Boy, I'm about up to my neck in cosmos, but...but...but how can I not try "Cosmos Psycho White"? I'm pretty certain this is not a typo for Psyche cosmos, because these don't look like Psyche--they look like Purity with serrated-edged petals. Only $1.50 a packet; 100 seeds in a packet. How can I say no?

And what else? I have been looking for a windowbox petunia to replace last year's Frillytunias -- Wildseed Farms has a petunia x violacea 'Laura Bush' (exclusive to them, they say) with reported heat and cold tolerance, violet colored flowers, and fragrant blooms. ($1.50 a packet; 200 seeds in a packet.) Sold!

The catalog's shipping charges are modest when the seed prices are factored in. Its ratings on Garden Watchdog are not voluminous in number, but all are positive.

Time to update the spreadsheet.

We got a thing...It's called 'Radar Love'.

A little bicarb, please. I've bought a few seeds, just a few. How many packets? I'm too embarrassed to tell, but this may give you a clue...so many that it prompted my husband to lament to a colleague: "she's got all these seeds! And she says she's planning to get more!" Responds the colleague (wise, wise woman!): "You should just be happy they're not Beanie Babies". Heh. Indeed.

I've been making myself feel better by reading Kathleen Purdy and her compatriots at A Cold Climate Gardening Journal, with beaucoup posts these days on seed shopping (and the human psychology thereof).

So...here are some (just some) of this year's coming attractions:

Impatiens balsam. I found this easy to start from seed last year, and loved it as a plant (until it was felled by spider mites).

Snapdragons, the really tall ones. Another success story from last year, and they just kept blooming even past the early frosts. I expect to see some self-sown "children", but I want to be sure that they're plentiful and prominent in the annual bed. I fear the day that snapdragon rust comes to visit, though. Anything for that other than voodoo spells, or "crop" rotation?

Cosmos (both bipinnatus and sulphureus), zinnia elegans, and calendula. These did well sown in situ last year, and I'll be counting on the calendula to keep on keepin' on after frost.

Papaver somniferum. I wonder whether the DEA has (sensibly) clarified that growing "lettuce"/"breadseed"/"opium" poppies in your home garden doesn't make you a narcotics perp...because many catalogs seem to have them this year.

Amaranth and its cousins: Hopi Red Dye, green love-lies-bleeding, a few celosias, and a globe amaranth. My husband's favorites.

I'm venturing into trying perennial seeds for two clematis: Clematis 'Radar Love' (which I am hoping will grow successfully in a container with my overwintering Carolina jessamine, and pick up blooming in yellow when the jessamine leaves off), and a bicolored clematis integrifolia. Wish me luck, y'all.

Then, of course, there are the ones that I decided I just had to try after reading about them:

From Dean Riddle's Growing a Beautiful Life (pub. info. here): Petunia integrifolia; kochia.

From Lauren Springer's The Undaunted Garden: Papaver somniferum 'Lauren's Grape'; alcea rugosa; red orach; perilla.

From Amy Stewart's From the Ground Up: Pinwheel marigold.

From Graham Rice's Discovering Annuals (pub. info. here): Alcea ficifolia (fig hollyhock).

As for the rest? Let's just say I'll be busy entering them into a spreadsheet to keep track of sowing dates, hardiness, planting locations, and the like...technology being, best of all, a refuge for the panicked and overwhelmed. Just send out the men in the little white coats if you hear me talking about making it a PowerPoint presentation.

The Undaunted Garden: Planting for Weather-Resilient Beauty. Lauren Springer. Fulcrum Publishing, 2000 edition. ISBN 1-55591-007-6 (paperback).

From the Ground Up: The Story of a First Garden. Amy Stewart. St. Martin's Griffin, 2002. ISBN 0-312-28767-4.