sprig to twig

The fiery, spectacular Susan Hayward won an Acadamy Award for her performance as a condemned killer in a movie of that name. My reference is considerably less grisly.

Usually, when I trim back succulents before moving them inside for the winter, I just stick the pruned sprigs into potting soil and let nature take its course. This piece, however, broke off of the Kalanchoe fedtshenkoi mother plant when I was moving the pot around. Since I have a hard time throwing away any kind of plant material, I put it in water on the windowsill. See those roots beginning to fill up the bottle? Looks like these things will grow no matter what is done to them.

Need further proof? Here’s a leaf from that same plant. It cracked horizontally and then fell into a nearby pot with exposed soil. There are new little plants forming all along the crack.

There are two sedums that are quite similar. Both form long stems packed with fleshy leaves that trail over the edges of their pots. Sedum burrito, or Burro’s tail, has rounded, very plump leaves which cling to their stems fairly tenaciously. Sedum morganianum, on the other had, has slightly more pointed and slender leaves which fall off at the slightest touch. Each fallen leaf can become a new plant, as is beginning to happen in the above picture. The new plant draws strength from the reserves in the fallen leaf. By the time nothing but a flake is left of the leaf, the new plant will have sent down roots and be well on its way.

Don’t you just love it?

Meanwhile, out in the garden, each Eremurus ‘Cleopatra’ that I planted last year is sending up at least two, and in one case five, new shoots. I am feeling compensated for the things that may not make it (too soon to give up on anything quite yet, but it’s not looking good for quite a few things that used to be reliably hardy here).

The catalogs have been pouring in for some time now. I am not sure why they keep coming, because it has been some time since I procured seeds through mail order. Here’s why:

I stood in the middle of a long wall displaying seeds from many sources and took this shot looking one way

then turned to my left and took another shot. This impressive display is at Garden Fever in NW Portland. The catalogs have provided me with reading, dreaming and planning time in the off season, but why would I pay postage on top of the price of the seed when I can walk into this shop and find anything my little green heart desires. Now, if you happen to live far from the madding crowds, nothing could be more inspiring than a package of unusual seed delivered straight to your doorstep. The colored photos of the end results of planting these seeds are nothing short of inspiring. Come to think of it, I’d best send in a token order just so this source of inspiration will not dry up. For now, though, here is what I will be starting indoors before my next trip to Garden Fever to pick up a few more little magical nuggets of life.

From Botanical Interest, formerly Renee’s Garden, if I am not mistaken: ‘Kentucky Wonder’ pole beans, Zinnia ‘Envy’ and Agastache rupestris. Each of these seed packets is a little work of art, with a watercolor rendering of the mature plant encapsulated in each tiny seed. From Seeds of Change, in an environmentally friendly package, green deer tongue lettuce. From Seed Savers Exchange, Aunt Molly’s ground cherry, or Physalis pruinosa. This last is a nostalgic pick, as I fondly remember the ground cherry preserves made by my great-grandmother. The plainest packets in the racks shown above are from Nichols Garden Nursery located here in the Willamette Valley of Oregon. If you can find a seed source that is local, it will deliver a product reliably adapted to your own climate. For the run-of-the mill, stand-by veggies, you might as well shop at the local super market, where there may even be 50% off sales. The pennies saved can be applied to more exotic fare from the local garden center…or…the catalogs.

If I see an unfamiliar succulent, I must have it. Each year, when their summer vacation outdoors comes to an end, they have overgrown their containers. That plant front and center is Ledebouria socialis. It has been divided so many times that wherever I go its offspring are in evidence. This year I rounded up all of the containers that I have been squirreling away and turned them into little succulent gardens.

It won’t take long for these little transplants to gain some presence. Don’t they look cute in this wooden wine box?

This metal box spent a lot of time in R’s studio, where it accumulated the patina of paint dribbles and drips, making it a fitting home for three Kalanchoe fedtschenkoi cuttings.

Good thing I like the look of little plants all in a row, because many of my available containers were oblong box shapes. The divisions here are Haworthia attenuata ‘Zebra’.

Here is a little sampling of the mini-succulent gardens in a toddler’s cowboy boot, a bag balm tin, a tea tin, a dolmas tin and a tuna tin. The last two also served a stint in the painting studio. I’m thinking these will make nice little hostess gifts. They definitely need to find new homes elsewhere, because we are being driven out of the dining room by overwintering plants.

When iris begin to form a solid mat, it is time to begin thinking about dividing. Some people wait until flowering starts to taper off, but by then the simple chore has become challenging (I speak from experience).

Weeds love to lodge themselves where it is almost impossible to remove them without damaging the meaty rhizomes of the iris. Dividing provides an opportunity to clear out the weeds in the process and start anew with a clean bed.

Using a fork or shovel, lift the whole mass of tangled rhizomes and tease them apart.

Some of them will be spent and shriveled. Close examination will reveal holes where borers have penetrated some of the healthier looking parts. All of these should be broken off and discarded.

Once the healthy sections with vigorous leaf growth have been separated and brushed free of dirt, the leaves should be trimmed to about 6″.

Make a hole about 3″ deep and wide enough to spread the roots. Make a mound in the center of the hole upon which to place the rhizome.

Fill in, covering all of the roots, but leaving the top of the rhizome showing. Water in well, and that’s it. The new transplants may skip a year of blooming, which is why I like to stagger my transplanting. I plan to keep closer tabs on their progress and label the various colors so that I can plan placement better. The fans of lance-shaped leaves make a dramatic contrast to other leaf shapes when used strategically, so I spread some of these around where I think they will make an impact, and still had plenty to share with neighbors. Come spring, I hope to get some shots to show you the fruits of my labor. Oh, and mid-August through September is the best time to tackle this job.

I have a very cavalier attitude toward propagation. When I read scholarly tracts on the subject, my head quickly begins to hurt. Every once in a while, a tip will jump off the page and lodge itself in the brain. For instance: a cutting of anything in the willow family will release a hormone that encourages other cuttings sharing the same container to produce roots. I don’t happen to have any Salix in my garden, but have found that Coleus provides the same service.

My studio windowsill sports a collection of clear glass containers filled with bouquets of hopeful cuttings. As roots form, they create swirling patterns as lovely as the foliage above. There are apparently certain times of the year that are best for taking cuttings, but my slipshod approach has not included record keeping to note when successful snippets were taken. An occasional rinsing of the jars reveals what is working and is an opportunity to discard the hopeless cases.

Choisya ‘Sun Dance’ has been one of the successes, though I fear for its survival after its most recent winter ordeal. Other champs have been geraniums, rosemary, lavender and forsythia. If I live long enough, I may fill up this garden yet.

I love the way Lonicera nitida ‘Lemon Beauty’ sets off other plants. I bought one from Cistus in ‘05 and stuck it in this berm. It flourished, with many branches bending low to the ground (an open invitation to take a stab at layering). Here’s how it works. Take one of those low-growing branches, and make a small nick on the underside where it will touch the ground. Make sure there is a good bit of branch beyond the cut.

I happen to have these U-pins left over from some long forgotten floral project, but you could as easily craft some from wire coat hangers. Use them to secure the branch to the ground where the nick is. Pile some soil over that spot. I did this with the Lonicera in ‘07. By ‘09, I had a crop of new shrubs. All that’s required is to sever the branch where it leads from the mother plant to the newly rooted babe, dig up the newbies and use them as you will.

Transplant to new quarters and gloat over saving as much as $20 per new plant. The latest issue of BBC Gardens Illustrated showed a clipped hedge of these plants in a formal garden. It was a striking counterpoint to the darker boxwood hedges. I happen to prefer letting things sprawl as they like. Either way, it is good to have a lot of them to play with. Other plants I have had success with using layering are heaths and heathers, hydrangeas and barberries. Any woody shrub would seem to be a good candidate.

Back in August, when it was too hot to even think about excavation projects, I opined here about the need to divide my lilies.

So hi-ho, hi-ho…with fall it’s off to work I go, mining the lily beds for a gardener’s stand-in for gold. The Casa Blancas had been perfectly happy in the original bed, but were beginning to crowd and push. After amending the soil with compost and bone meal, I put a third of them back, adding stakes as I went.

Here they are, all tucked in and staked in a new spot. The Muscadets and Stargazers were puny by comparison. I’m hoping they will be happier in new spots with less competition and careful soil preparation The red border lilies had produced a whole gang of new bulbs and bulblets, so I spread them around to a number of beds, just to see how they might like different conditions. It will be fun to see what next summer will bring.