Learning Something New: Vivipary

Just when I start feeling good about my level of gardening knowledge, something comes along that shatters my illusion. Last month, for instance, my friend Karen brought an example of vivipary to my attention. I had never heard the term. What is vivipary? It is when seeds sprout while they are still inside the fruit. It is seen most often in tomatoes, peppers, wheat, and corn. It is also common in mangroves, but we don’t grow those in my part of the southeast.

Vivipary happens when the fruit or vegetable is under stress, whether from too much or too little water or a nutrient deficiency. Over-ripe tomatoes are prone to it, and my friend’s tomato was advertised as “vine ripened” at the local grocery. Tomatoes should always be stored at room temperature, as refrigeration gives them a mealy consistency and makes them more prone to this internal sprouting. My guess is that this tomato was shipped to the grocery store in a cool container that stressed it.

Sprouting occurs when the seed’s hormones (gibberellin and abscisic acid, usually) become unbalanced. When the conditions listed above throw the hormones out of whack, the result is broken seed dormancy.

The photos here tell the story.   

This “vine ripened” tomato appeared to have a case of teenage acne — and then plants burst through the skin!

Karen cut off the bottom-most portion of the tomato shown above and planted it in soil. Behold: healthy plants! More plants have emerged since this photo was taken. Cool, yes?

Another example: Corn kernels have decided to grow into new plants, still attached to the cob.

Gramody, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Fruits that have vivipary are safe to eat, but it’s a bit creepy to see little seeds sprouting in the midst of a tomato slice.

Do's and Don'ts of Torch Weed Control

I would not characterize myself as an organic gardener, but I am very careful about using chemicals around my gardens. So, it shouldn’t surprise anyone that I once decided to take a non-chemical approach to removing weeds from the cracks of the brick walkway that divided my vegetable garden from the adjacent perennial bed.

It was a late Sunday afternoon in autumn, warm enough but a heavy overcast sky made it seem cooler. I casually asked my husband, Saint Jim, “Say, don’t you have a propane torch?” I got an affirmative answer, then asked him to show me how to use it. Decades of togetherness meant he was smart enough not to question the wheres or whys of such inquiries. But he did give me a short demonstration, then watched me burn weeds in the garden long enough to ensure that I wasn’t going to set myself afire before he returned to the comfort of the house.

In case you are considering the live flame approach to ridding your spring garden of weeds, let me share a few voice-of-experience recommendations. 

1. You should reconsider the use of a propane torch if your beds are outlined with cedar posts or your brick pathways are defined by landscape timbers. Both are flammable. In this case “reconsider” may be defined as “don’t.” 

2. Lush green weeds like pigweed, dandelion, and thistle refuse to turn black and crumble when confronted with a blowtorch.  Only after concentrated attack do they succumb, somewhat reluctantly.  Leaves and grass that was already dead, on the other hand, burn quite nicely. If you amend your vegetable garden with lots of soil conditioner, as I do, you know that soil conditioner is mostly pine bark. Translation:  highly flammable.  Given the right conditions (warm, overcast, dry) it is possible to set one’s garden soil on fire. Trust me on this one. 

3. Do not lean directly over the torch as you cook your weeds. Bangs and long hair singe just as quickly as dead leaves.

4. Be certain that your garden hose is hooked up to a water supply, is turned on and at hand, should you need a rapid extinguish. 

5. Finally (and probably should have been first), if your gardens are protected from deer damage by an electric fence, switch OFF the power BEFORE commencing the weed-cooking operation.  Then, if you should need to lean over said electric fence to attach hose to water bib, you won’t find yourself a human experiment on the strength of bladder muscles when exposed to an electrical pulse strong enough to repel a hungry buck deer.

If you are going to rid your garden of weeds by using an herbicide (hey, no judgement here – just follow the label exactly when mixing concentrates with water), maybe use a narrow paint brush or cheap foam brush to apply thirty cents worth weedkiller to the nasties in your garden rather than using three dollar’s worth of propane to do a poor job of weed removal and worse job of hairstyling.

You’re welcome.

This image is AI generated. I did not capture the embarrassing reality of the fire in my own garden.

From Almost Dead to Specimen Plant

I will go to extraordinary lengths to keep a plant from dying in my garden. Occasionally, I even rescue those almost-dead specimens marked down for final sale at a home improvement store, hoping to nurse them back to health. There are other plant rescuers out there. If you know, you know.

One of my more memorable rescue projects was an upright juniper I found on clearance at a local garden center. The tag was long gone, so its cultivar was a mystery. It had clearly outgrown its too-small pot, and large patches of dead foliage were scattered throughout the plant.

I brought the pitiful specimen home, planted it immediately, and lavished it with attention. Within a few months, fresh growth appeared, but the plant was still dotted with brown needles that shed like a months-old Christmas tree every time a breeze touched it. That’s when I decided to give it the “poodle” treatment, also known as cloud pruning.

The method is straightforward. Begin by removing all dead limbs and any discolored foliage. Use sharp, clean tools. Then step back and study the plant’s structure. Identify the strongest limbs to keep, and prune away the others with clean cuts flush to the main trunk. The goal is to reveal the trunk and create an open, layered framework. Aim to space the remaining limbs evenly and horizontally around the trunk, like the spokes of a wagon wheel. Go slowly, as once limbs are gone, they cannot be recovered.

Once the heavy pruning is complete, switch to hand clippers. Remove foliage closest to the trunk while allowing growth to remain at the outer tips of each limb. With a light touch, shape these tufts into rounded or oval forms (think soccer balls or footballs) to create the cloud effect.

Because poodling is a radical treatment, the plant will need extra attention to recover. Provide consistent water and fertilizer to encourage vigorous regrowth. As new growth emerges, use utility scissors to refine the outer edges of the pom-poms. In late spring or early fall, remove any aggressive shoots that threaten to disrupt the shape. Patience is essential. It may take a year or two for a plant to complete its transformation from nearly-dead to camera-ready.

Trees that respond well to this style include junipers, pines, cypress, privet, and yew (Taxus). Young plants are easiest to train, but even older, unattractive specimens can be transformed from ugly ducklings into swans. Fast-growing plants such as privet may require shaping several times a year, while slower growers may need attention only once per year. In Japan, this pruning technique is known as Niwaki, and has been elevated to an art form. If you are a visual learner, check out the many demonstration videos available on YouTube.

When done correctly, poodling or cloud pruning produces a plant that resembles bonsai. The key difference is that bonsai are grown in containers, while cloud-pruned trees and shrubs are cultivated in the ground.

Conifer before poodling

Conifer after poodling

Near this commercial parking lot, a poodled conifer makes sharp contrast with Colorguard yucca. The photo was taken in winter, when there was little else of interest in the garden islands.

In this example of cloud pruning, the pom-poms are so close that they do not allow one to see through.

Temperature Fluctuations and Soil Heave

Weather in the southeast is reliably unpredictable. Conditions can shift quickly between cold and warm temperatures, heavy rain and drought, or even sleet and snow, often within a short period. After recent snowfalls melted, many gardeners noticed patches of soil pushed upward, as though something beneath the surface had forced it skyward. This phenomenon is known as frost heave.

What causes it? Frost heave occurs because water expands as it freezes. A familiar example is a canned beverage left in a freezer. As the liquid solidifies and expands, it can rupture the container. A similar process takes place in the soil. Following a rainy period or in areas with poor drainage, a sudden drop below freezing causes moisture in the ground to form ice. As the ice expands, it lifts the surrounding soil. In areas of bare soil, you can sometimes see obvious evidence, commonly called ice needles or rime ice. When the ice thaws, soil is left suspended on small air pockets. The ground looks disturbed, almost fluffy. Frost heave can damage house foundations and give rise to potholes in paved streets or driveways. It can push garden bed edging out of their locations, leading to an uneven appearance. It is more common in silty soils than in clay.

The repeated freeze–thaw cycle can push plants upward, exposing tender roots to air and cold temperatures. This exposure can be fatal during subsequent freezes. To minimize damage, gently press raised soil back into place to eliminate air pockets around roots. Light foot pressure is usually sufficient.

For widespread frost heave in sodded lawns, a weighted roller can help restore firm contact between grass roots and soil. Use caution: excessive compaction may damage dormant turf. Likewise, avoid driving over frost-heaved lawns, as vehicle weight can kill dormant sod.

While it is difficult to prevent frost heave, mulch serves as an effective soil insulator, moderating temperature extremes and reducing its likelihood. Well-aerated, well-drained soils are also less susceptible.

If you are unsure whether frost heave has occurred, walk through the affected area. Heaved soil typically feels soft or spongy underfoot, an early indicator that corrective action may be needed.

“Rime ice” or “ice needles” has pushed areas of soil above the surface.

Labor Intensive Garden Projects, Part One

It’s easy to imagine lovely garden features. Daydreams are free; installation and maintenance are not. Some of the ideas that capture our hearts turn out to be far more demanding than we anticipated. Let me share a couple of personal experiences.

Years ago, my husband and I visited the UK, where I saw what appeared to be a living fence. A simple wooden frame was strung with diagonal wires, and a vine had been trained into a precise, lattice-like pattern. I learned it was called a Belgian fence, often used to block unpleasant views. That image lodged itself firmly in my brain and waited there until I had no choice but to attempt one in my own garden.

I read everything I could about Belgian fence construction, then built my own. First steps were to sink base posts deep into the ground so that a heavy, vine-covered wire trellis would be securely supported. I built a seven-foot square frame out of treated wood and attached it to the sunken supports with metal hinges so that I could lay the unit down should I need to maintain the building behind it. I secured the top of the frame to the building with more screw hooks and two lengths of lightweight chain. So far, so good. I screwed eye hooks into the frame at measured intervals and ran diagonal wires across to create an open trellis. Finally, I planted several small-leaf ivy plants at the base of the frame, watered, fertilized, and hoped.

It didn’t take long until the ivy did what ivy is supposed to do – It started twining around the wires and growing its way to the top. Unfortunately, I installed the fence and its sunken base a mere 24 inches from the ugly outbuilding it was meant to conceal. The ivy quickly ignored my carefully placed wires and reached instead for the wooden barn, attaching itself with sticky aerial roots. This resulted in monthly pruning sessions and the constant addition of wire to redirect the plants where I wanted them to go. After four years of effort, the fence finally achieved full coverage. By then, I was so tired of maintaining it that I promptly removed the entire thing.

Not content with having one time drain in my garden, I announced my intent to install a bed of hybrid tea roses along the side of our Victorian farmhouse, where I could sit on the veranda and enjoy flowers and fragrance. My husband (I refer to him as Saint Jim because of his never-ending patience with my “projects”) tried to convince me otherwise, but politely stepped aside to allow me to fail on my own.

Planning the rose bed was a great deal of fun. I perused books and even joined the American Rose Society so that I would have access to their manual on selecting roses. The manual was priceless, since it numerically rated the success of roses across the US. I learned which ones were stingy bloomers and which ones were more prone to insect and disease damage.

Newly planted roses emerging

The first year of flowers

Spoiler alert: After installing 26 roses, a combination of hybrid teas, floribundas, grandifloras, and one China rose, I learned the sad truth. ALL roses grown in the humid southeast are prone to diseases (especially black spot) and insects (especially thrips, aphids, Japanese beetles). They were lovely when they were in flower, homely when they were not. I grew tired of spraying and pruning and more spraying. In a few years, the rose bed was a distant memory and a life lesson.

This blog is not meant to be a downer. I just want to share that not all beautiful garden features in other locations can be replicated in your own garden without extensive time and trouble.

Next week: A few more time-intensive projects you might want to reconsider.  

Winter Weather Woes in the Garden

Like many others across the Southeast, my garden is wrapped in ice today. We are experiencing record-breaking cold temperatures, with power outages and frozen water pipes topping the list of concerns. My garden has taken a beating, and I expect to lose some plants that were marginally hardy for my Zone 8a conditions. Only time will tell.

Ice storms cause more damage to gardens than snowstorms. Light snow accumulation can usually be dislodged with a broom or pole and a gentle jostle to the limbs of broadleaf trees such as Southern Magnolia or conifers like my prized DeGroots Spire Arborvitae. Ice, on the other hand, adheres stubbornly to leaves and branches. Shaking shrubs or trees to remove it often causes more breakage than the ice itself. Waiting for warmer temperatures and sunlight to do the work is often the safest option.

For future winter weather events, there are a few steps you can take to help your plants survive:

• Protect root zones. Before frigid temperatures arrive, cover the root zones with chopped leaves or coarse mulch. This should be temporary. Remove the material once temperatures moderate to prevent crown rot caused by excess moisture.

• Shield vulnerable plants. Tent shrubs or small trees with shade cloth or old sheets to reduce ice accumulation. Use T-posts or upside-down buckets to prop the fabric above the plant so the weight of ice does not break limbs. If fabric is unavailable, evergreen boughs can also provide protection. This is a good use for an old Christmas tree, if you still have one. For especially tender plants, place a tomato cage around them and wrap the outside with cloth or plastic.

• Move container plants. When severe cold is predicted, relocate dormant container plants to an unheated garage or storage building. The goal is to keep them cold enough to remain dormant, not warm enough to trigger spring growth. The same applies to shrubs or trees still in nursery pots awaiting planting. (I’m guilty here. I intended to plant my Pittosporums and Grey Owl Juniper weeks ago, but that didn’t happen.)

• Manage snow carefully. If snow is the issue, gently remove it from branches with a light shake or a leaf blower, but allow it to remain around the base of plants for insulation. It may seem counterintuitive, but snow maintains a temperature of about 32°F, while surrounding air can be much colder.

• Support conifers. Ice can cause conifers to spraddle and break. Shorter specimens can be loosely wrapped with rope to hold their form, but be sure to remove the rope as soon as the ice melts to avoid damaging the plant.

• Do not water plants when soil temperatures are below freezing.

Avoid walking across ice-covered sod. Even dormant lawns may show breakage or footsteps when they green up in the spring. Give special TLC to anything recently planted in your garden. Even if listed as hardy in your zone, those plants may not be well-established. Of course, the “too little, too late” advice is to select plants for your particular hardiness zone.

It make take weeks for damage to reveal itself among your garden plants. Please be patient and wait for the arrival of spring. Prune only to remove broken limbs.

Early in the storm, we had a light dusting of snow and I breathed a premature sigh of relief. Later in the day, freezing rain turned this same view outside my front door into an ice sculpture.

Sparkling Winterberry Holly

We normally think of holly shrubs as having spiny evergreen leaves and red berries. Winterberry holly, Ilex verticillata, is deciduous. The bright red berries are held against leafless stems, offering a welcome spot of garden color in winter. These are especially eye-popping when seen against a solid green backdrop, as in the accompanying photo.

Winterberry holly is native to North America. It enjoys a moist, acidic soil in full sun to partial shade and is perennial in zones 3-9. Mature plants may reach twelve feet or more in height, and up to five feet wide. They are slow growing, however, and will take years to achieve this size.

Gardeners should know two things about Winterberry. First, it flowers and produces berries on new growth, so you can prune plants to shape in early spring and reap the rewards of more berries in winter. Adding a bit of fertilizer will push even more new growth.

Second, Winterberry Holly plants are either male or female. Only the female plants produce those lovely red berries, and only if a male plant is nearby (within fifty feet) to ensure pollination. A single male holly can pollinate ten females.

Critical point: The males and females must bloom at the same time. Try to buy plants from a knowledgeable nursery so that you don’t go home with an early-season female and a late-season male. Early-flowering females (like Red Sprite, Afterglow, Berry Nice, and Berry Heavy) need early males (Jim Dandy). Late-flowering females (like Sunset, Winter Red, Winter Gold) need late males (Southern Gentleman, Apollo). If you pair early-flowering Red Sprite with late flowering Apollo, for example, you will see few if any berries. Berry set will also be reduced if plants suffer drought conditions.

These shrubs, both male and female, don’t offer much in the way of eye candy unless berries are present. I like to plant the male pollinators in an out-of-way location so they don’t draw attention to their unimpressive shape, size, and foliage.

Birds are attracted to the berries and bees enjoy the flowers. Plants are moderately deer resistant and are also fire resistant. Berries are not meant for human consumption; they won’t kill you but they can cause stomach upset.

This Winterberry was planted just a few months ago. Red berries stand out when seen against the solid green backdrop of Leyland Cypress.

These plants were installed at a new development entrance just a couple of months ago. The berry display will be much heavier in successive years.

Hooray for Holly Ferns

While everything else in the garden is dull, drab, gray or brown, bright evergreen Holly Ferns stand out like beacons signaling that a positive future awaits in my shade beds. The Latin name for Holly Fern is Cyrtomium falcatum, pronounced sir-TOH-mee-um fal-KAY-tum. They are native to Asia, but have naturalized in the lower US.

Their thick, leathery leaves withstand freezes but can be damaged in extended cold periods or if ice remains on the fronds for any length of time. Damaged leaves should be removed at the base in spring. Plants are perennial in zones 7-10.

Like most other ferns, Holly Fern likes damp shade or part shade. They tolerate short periods of drought. They also do very well near deciduous trees, where they receive a bit of sun in winter but are protected from direct sunlight during the warm months.

Holly Ferns do not produce seeds. They can be started from spores if you have an enormous amount of patience, but they are best reproduced by division. Try using an electric kitchen carving knife (yes, the kind used for slicing your Thanksgiving turkey) to divide the tough crowns. Mature plants can reach two feet in height and up to three feet in width. This means they can be used as low-growing foundation shrubs on the shady side of a house.

While most ferns have a delicate, fine texture, Holly Ferns are coarse. They combine beautifully with hostas, and their evergreen nature means that they can keep a bed from looking bare in the winter.

I see Holly Ferns for sale in various nurseries. Sometimes they vary in appearance from the ones that have been with me for a number of years. I started with one plant and have divided it multiple times, so all mine are exact clones of the mother plant. They have weathered several relocations without sulking. I suspect that those that look different are Cyrtomium fortunei, a similar species with closer spaced leaf lobes.

These easy-to-grow plants do well in containers, pond-side, on slopes, in hanging baskets, just about anywhere shady. They are resistant to damage from deer and rabbits.

This Holly Fern is five years old. The new growth is bright green. The older,darker fronds at lower right show some winter damage and will be removed. This fern is underplanted with evergreen ginger (Asarum europeana) and next to variegated Solomon’s Seal (Polygonatum odoratum).

This baby Holly Fern was recently separated from a mother plant. Within a year, it will outgrow the hostas on either side.

NGB: The Gods and Five Plants of Ancient Greece

The National Garden Bureau came into being in 1920. It was the invention of journalist and horticulture educator James H. Burdett. Today the non-profit NGB’s mission is to ““Inspire. Connect. Grow.” They offer factual information on seeds, plants, and gardening products. They are famous for their annual “Year of…” designations that focus our attentions on one annual, perennial, bulb, edible, houseplant, and flowering shrub each year. Member articles throughout the year educate and entertain readers. One such article that I found interesting was, Five Great Plants from the Gardens of the Gods: Plants with Mythical and Historical Uses.

The article featured Acontium napellus (aconite), Morus species (mulberry), Hedera helix (ivy), and Cydonia oblonga (quince). The one that I found most interesting was Narcissus (daffodil). This section is reproduced below, in its entirety. Please follow the highlighted link above to read the whole post. You won’t be sorry. Especially see the legend behind Mulberry. Hint: This is a version of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet that you did not learn in school.

Narcissus (daffodil)

Once upon a time, an arrogant young man named Narcissus fell in love with his own reflection. As he wandered through the woods, he stopped to drink from a pool of water and saw himself reflected in its surface. He was mesmerized. One version of the story says he didn’t realize he was looking at himself and that he stayed there until he wasted away, longing to meet the man in the mirror. Another version says he realized he was looking at himself and understood his love could never be reciprocated, so he killed himself. In both versions, the narcissus flower sprang from his dead body.

A less familiar story tells how Zeus (king of the gods) helped his brother Hades (king of the underworld) kidnap Persephone so Hades could make her his queen. Zeus created a magical narcissus with 100 flowers to captivate Persephone. As she reached to touch it, the ground beneath her opened, and Hades rushed up in his chariot, grabbed Persephone, and carried her beneath the earth.

Persephone’s mother was Demeter, goddess of the harvest. Her father was Zeus, who apparently had no problem organizing his own daughter’s kidnapping. Demeter was devastated when her daughter was taken; she caused all plants to die and allowed no seeds to germinate. Very quickly, Zeus realized that without plants, humans would starve, and without humans, no one would be left to worship the gods. So Zeus commanded Hades to return Persephone, which he did. But first, Hades tricked Persephone into eating a few pomegranate seeds.

For every seed she ate, Persephone was forced to spend a month underground as Hades’s queen. And that’s why we have a growing season and a dormant season. When Persephone is in the underworld, Demeter grieves and allows nothing to grow. When Persephone returns, Demeter rejoices, and the growing season begins again.

Gift Ideas for Gardeners

The number of days until Christmas is dwindling. If you are still struggling with what to purchase for your favorite gardener, allow me to offer a couple of suggestions.

First, top quality hand pruners are always well received. I seem to lose a pair about every two years, and I’m always grateful for an extra set. Felco has been my long-time choice, but my allegiance changed to Fiskars because of their remarkable open-handedness to the people in areas damaged by Hurricane Hellene. It takes good equipment to clear storm damage, and they have been generous with donated tools. If you are feeling particularly magnanimous, add a pair of loppers. There are Fiskars loppers with a ratcheting operation that allow weak hands to tackle serious pruning. Other models have extendable handles that allow one to extend their reach without a ladder.

My well-worn copy, complete with numerous bookmarked pages. This is THE reference book in my collection of gardening books.

Top of my favorite gardening books is Dirr’s Encyclopedia of Trees & Shrubs. This book is large and expensive – and worth every penny. The photos help me envision plants in my own garden, and Dr. Michael Dirr is unabashedly honest. If a plant is a demanding prima dona, he says so without whitewashing or fanfare. I prize honesty.

For smaller budgets, garden gloves are a good choice. In addition to my leather-palm, fabric gloves, I go through many boxes of nitrile gloves every season. They come in boxes of 50 or 100 and are inexpensive (find at Harbor Freight). I prefer the 7mil thick ones. The 5mil thickness tears too easily for my type of gardening, and the 9mil is harder to get on/off my hands. These gloves keep the dirt from my nails, prevent blisters, give me an excellent touch for handling seedlings, and offer safety when using insecticides or herbicides. They are inexpensive and disposable. I go through three or four pairs a day during peak garden chore season.

Water wands are hard to find in big box stores at this time of the year. The shelves are packed with seasonal décor. The better garden nurseries will stock Dramm wands and heads. Give your beloved an Aluminum Fine Water Breaker Nozzle and you won’t need mistletoe to get a smooch.

My beloved pruner. Keep the blade guard in place when not in use. Keep them away from children. There is a built-in safety device, but don’t be careless.

Last year, my husband bought me a battery-operated pruner. I love it. Mine is a Dewalt (yellow, easy to find at dusk, color coordinates nicely with my John Deere equipment), but there are similar products made by Milwaukee, Ryobi, and others. I use it every week. The same battery-pack that powers my pruners also drives my Dewalt drill. I have an assortment of bulb augurs of different sizes that fit into the drill. These look like giant drill bits, but they are meant for use in soil. Not only do they make quick work of planting bulbs, but they also make holes for annuals sold in 4-packs and 6-packs.

While gift cards to local nurseries are always welcome (hint, hint), think twice before you gift a plant. Most gardeners have personal preferences and would prefer to pick their own.

There is a perfect gift for every gardener. Choose thoughtfully.

Don't Choose Ugly Agnes

My woodlands are bare and quiet now, a collection of tree trunks surrounded by a thick carpet of fallen leaves: oak, sycamore, maple, hickory, and others. Beech trees are still hanging on to their tan leaves. Pines, magnolias, and mountain laurel offer spots of green. The muted grays and browns bring attention to evergreen Leucothoe (which I like) and semi-evergreen Elaeagnus (that I don’t like). There are multiple species in the Elaeagnus genus: E. umbellata, E. pungens, E. angustifolia. They share common names, including Silverthorn, Silver Leaf, Autumn Olive, and Russian Olive. My favorite common name came from an agent at Clemson University Extension, “Ugly Agnes,” a wordplay on the hard-to-spell genus.

There are a few advantages of Elaeagnus. It is hardy in a wide range (zones 4-9), and will tolerate any soil texture, any sun exposure, and any moisture level except for constantly wet. It is resistant to damage by deer. Its white flowers are sweetly fragrant, and are followed by silver/olive fruit that matures to red. Birds and small mammals feed on the seeds and scatter them far and wide. Per NC State Extension, a single E. umbellata shrub can produce 80 pounds of fruit annually.

That seeding habit lands it on the naughty list. Non-native Elaeagnus will spread aggressively, quickly forming a dense thicket. In fixes nitrogen in the soil, effectively self-fertilizing, allowing it to grow and thrive in poor soils where it overtakes native plants. It is listed as an Invasive Plant of Southern Forests and appears on the Invasive Plant Atlas of the MidSouth (developed and maintained by the United States Geological Survey).

Originally introduced to serve as a windbreak and erosion control, this fast-growing shrub has thorns that will rip through a gardener’s glove. It has a habit of throwing wild whippy growth that rise many feet beyond the base shrub, giving it an otherworldly look. The sale of Elaeagnus has been banned in many states.

There are several great alternatives to Elaeagnus. Please consider Beautyberry (Callicarpa), Holly (Ilex), Viburnum, Cherry Laurel (Prunus caroliniana), Gardenia, Itea, or Fothergilla.

Elaeagnus pungens James H. Miller CC BY 3.0

Elaeagnus angustifolia immature fruit Dinnye CC BY-SA 4.0

Elaeagnus flower James H. Miller CC BY 3.0

Pre-Winter Propagation Chores

It is Thanksgiving week, and I am concentrating on hosting family and friends rather than researching cool plants. Instead of my normal format, I want to share a few photos of my pre-winter tasks. Other than a single cold snap in October, this year’s autumn has been unusually warm. This means that I had extended time to take a few cuttings for rooting in the greenhouse, as a head start on next gardening season.

A green-and-white container combination seems fresh and cool in the hottest part of the summer. I like to combine Cuban Oregano with variegated ivy and Diamond Frost Euphorbia. The Cuban Oregano (Plectranthus variegata) shown here was a gift from my friend Ann in 2009. The plant is not cold-hardy, so I have overwintered a few cuttings every year since then. It is a wonderful memory of our friendship. I take more cuttings than I need as insurance against rooting failure, so I have extras to share. Six weeks ago, I started four branch tip cuttings to take advantage of apical dominance – plants like to grow from their tips -- in a recycled, sanitized four-pack. They rooted well, so graduated this week to four-inch containers.

Cuban Oregano (Plectranthus variegata) is moving from a 4-pack to a 4-inch container.

I adore the succulent groundcover Mezoo. It has gone by several genus names, including Aptenia, Doreanthus, and Mesembryanthemum. I do not know which one of these is correct, so I rely on the common name in my labeling. Mezoo roots readily and grows fast, so I stuck my cuttings in two-inch plugs. Most have rooted and are ready to graduate to four-inch pots. In late February, they will need to move up again, to one-gallon containers.
About that labeling: the plant labels you see here are sections of an old window blind. A single damaged vinyl blind (cat owners, IYKYK) can be recycled into a lot of plant labels. The slats are flexible enough to cut to the preferred length with kitchen shears, and strong enough to last. They don’t rot or rust. For plants that will go into the ground without their labels, I use a Sharpie Extreme marker on the blind. The Extreme will withstand UV rays and frequent watering without fading. For transplants that will have their identifying label planted along with the plant itself, I use weather-resistant tape on a Brother P-Touch Label Maker. Some of these have lasted more than five years for me. Sadly, a few have outlived the plants they identified. 

Lovely, heat-tolerant, succulent groundcover Mezoo is moving from plugs to 4-inch pots. It will share a tray with Cuban Oregano, since they both prefer drier conditions in the greenhouse.

I took a few cuttings of favorite annuals, Alternanthera ‘Purple Prince’ and Coleus ‘Freckles.’ Here, you see that I have removed the Alternanthera from its four-inch container to confirm that it has enough roots to move up to a one-gallon size. I do not know the science behind it, but plants prefer to move into slightly larger containers. If a two-inch plug goes directly into a three-gallon container (I exaggerate, but you get the point), it will languish and fail. That same rooted two-inch plug will move successfully to a four-inch container. Once that four-inch container has roots showing around the bottom and sides, it can be bumped up to the next size, and then again once that pot shows roots around its outside perimeter. To ensure the good health of a plant, move it to the next larger size before it gets rootbound, meaning that the container is overfilled or choked with roots. Even though I am using round pots in these photos, I far prefer the square pots. There seems to be less root girdling with squares than with rounds. Rounds have the advantage of using less potting soil.  

Checking that the cutting has rooted well enough to move to the next size container.

Here, I have moved the Alternanthera, the Coleus, and Centrantherum (“Lark Daisy”) to one gallon containers for the winter. And here is my final gardening tidbit for this blog: To apply the time-release fertilizer that will keep these plants well-fed until spring, I took an empty plastic one-quart container, washed it well, and used a small bit to drill a bunch of holes in the plastic lid. This works like a large salt-shaker to apply fertilizer (or any pelletized product) easily and evenly. I have multiple lids, with different diameter holes. Milorganite, for instance, is a small pellet that requires a smaller gauge hole for ideal distribution.

Alternanthera, Centrantherum, and a few Daylily divisions are potted up and ready to overwinter in the greenhouse. I pinched the growing tips and removed the flower buds to encourage stocky, well-branched specimens.

 Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.

Unusual Abutelon

I love unusual flowers, but feel less attraction to tender plants that must be relocated to the greenhouse for overwintering. Recently, I was drawn to Abutelon (pronounced uh·BYOO·tuh·luhn), also known as Flowering Maple due to its leaf shape or as Chinese Lantern due to its flower shape. Abutelon is hardy in zones 9a to 10b, so this one would likely not make it through the cold months in my zone 8a garden. Yet, the uncommon flowers held a certain appeal. I took two cuttings for an attempt at propagation. If these strike roots, I will move them outdoors next spring and see if my affection lasts through a growing season.

I was surprised to learn that the mature size of Abutelon can be eight feet or more, with a width up to five feet. The stems are weak, allowing the plant to sprawl. Frequent branch tip reduction from pinching back will produce a compact plant with stronger stems. Abutelon prefers full sun to part shade, and a porous but moist soil. It is prone to root rot, and should have a well-draining soil paired with frequent irrigation. It is a heavy feeder, and needs regular applications of fertilizer to look its best.

While the maple-like leaves are attractive and several variegated cultivars are available in nurseries, the unusual flowers of Abutelon are its main attraction. The bell-shaped blooms consist of five overlapping petals that fuse into a single column that terminates in a cluster (stigma) that protrudes outside the petals, resembling Hibiscus or Turk’s Turban. The flowers come in shades of pink, orange, red, or yellow, often with contrasting veins. An acquaintance remarked that the veined flowers look like bloodshot eyes, and now I cannot unsee that.

Plants grow fast and flower on new growth, from spring through fall. If you bring a potted specimen indoors for overwintering, keep it in a sunny window but away from heat sources. It prefers temperatures of 65-75 degrees. Keep an eye out for aphids, whiteflies, spider mites, and mealybugs.

Check out the intricate veining of Abutelon, Flowering Maple.

An Asian Evergreen Beauty

Just when I think I’m familiar with most plants that grow in our area, BOOM, a new one comes across my radar. This was the case with Sciadopitys verticillata, pronounced sigh-uh-DOP-ih-tiss ver-ti-si-LAH-tuh. The common name is Japanese Umbrella Pine. At first glance, I thought this lovely evergreen tree was Podocarpus, but closer inspection corrected that notion.

Sciadopitys is native to Japan. There are fossils of it dating back 230 million years.  The needles are whirled at branch tips, which makes them look like green umbrellas – hence the common name. The two specimens I saw at a local arboretum inspired instant plant lust. No local nurseries had them for sale. I reached out to the internet, and discovered a mail order nursery in North Carolina offered 14 cultivars. Alas, all inventory was sold out. Other vendors had available trees for sale, but offered them at prices that made my credit card shiver with fear. My research revealed that Japanese Umbrella Pines might reach thirty feet or so at maturity, but their growth rate is slow. Slow, as in about six inches per year. At that rate, a tree would reach mature height in approximately sixty years. This growth rate explained why sizeable specimens are so expensive.

I returned to the arboretum several times to verify my admiration. Each visit confirmed my belief that I must have this plant in my home garden. The aforementioned NC nursery has an open house twice a year, a special opportunity to put boots on soil in an area that is normally closed to shoppers. I attended the open house with a friend, and almost left my $$ at home as a means of self discipline. I am very grateful that I did not, because they were selling several cultivars of the coveted Japanese Umbrella Pine. The hard part was deciding which one was going home with me. Would it be 'Sternschnuppe' with branches like shooting stars?  'Golden Parasol' with yellow foliage? Or ‘Fat Boy’ which grows almost as wide as it is tall? I finally decided on ‘Propeller’ whose needle tips are supposed to twist like a propeller.

Japanese Umbrella Pines are recommended for acidic to neutral soil, full sun to part shade, zones 5a to 8a. I live on the warmest end of that range, so decided that my trees would receive part shade instead of full sun. ‘Propeller’ is supposed to reach just six feet tall in ten years. Perfect for a container! I bought two and placed them in different parts of my landscape. I will gauge their reaction to sun exposure after a season and relocate as necessary.

Japanese Umbrella Pines have two types of cones. The male cones are a half-inch long and occur in groups at branch tips. The female cones are around three inches, upright, and age to a reddish brown. It takes 18-20 months for female cones to mature after pollination, another reason that these plants are not cheap. With age, the rusty brown bark will exfoliate in strips, adding another feature. While they would perfectly compliment an Asian-theme garden, these lovely specimens will look good in any setting. I can’t wait to see their growth over the next decade.

This is the tree that spurred my insistence on ownership.

Wild Turkeys and Mast Years

Anyone witnessing my push-mowing of the back lawn last week would have been amused. Despite my lug-soled work boots, I was slip sliding around like the slope was ice covered. But it wasn’t ice; it was acorns. Lots and lots of acorns, which offers a reasonable explanation for the excessive number of wild turkeys that are roaming around the entire property. They look big, healthy, and a little mean, if I’m being honest. We have also had a record number of bears this fall. More than twenty black bears have sauntered by at various times of the day or night. They are not aggressive and haven’t damaged anything yet, so we co-exist peacefully.

Acorns litter the ground

My husband and I have lived on our current property for five years, and 2025 is by far the heaviest acorn crop yet. I mentioned this odd phenomenon to one of the vendors at the local farmers’ market. He shrugged and said, “It’s a mast year.” Evidently, he thought that explained the nut glut. Not eager to reveal my ignorance, I waited until he was out of sight before pulling out the phone and googling “mast year.” It is a real thing. All oaks or other nut-bearing trees have a super-heavy production in some years, compared to a reduction in other years.

Why does this happen? Quite a bit of professional research is available on line. There is evidence that weather has an influence, but also that nature is acting to keep acorn-eating critters in some sort of balance. The seeding phenomenon appears coordinated. From Ellie Shechet, Brooklyn Botanical Garden, “Masting is, in short, the synchronized production of seeds by a population of plants. In other words, it’s a reproductive act that an entire population does together. Oak trees, for example, mast roughly every 2–5 years. Because populations can extend across vast swaths of the country, this can mean that a red oak tree on a street in Chicago is hurling acorns to the ground at around the same time as a red oak tree in the woods of New Hampshire.”

This sounded reasonable to me and was supported by articles from George Washington University, University of New Hampshire, Iowa State University, Cornell University, and many others. I wondered how the results were quantified. In my imagination, I saw graduate students sitting on the ground with buckets, counting as they collected. Harvard University provided an in depth description in the measurement process in their Journal of Vegetation Science, Volume 20, Issue 4, pp. 745-753, 9 pp. Here is one sentence from that abstract that convinced me that I did not need to know the specifics: “We use 36 seed production datasets covering a variety of species with ≥10 years of data to test the performance of these six methods. For each method, we quantify the percentage of the datasets to which the method could be successfully applied, the magnitude of the mast year relative to the mean, the frequency of mast years and the occurrence of consecutive mast years. The majority of the methods failed to meet the criteria for a suitable method. The best method used the number of standard deviates (standardized deviate method) of the annual mean seed production from the long-term mean of the dataset to identify mast-seeding years. General results from the standardized deviate method include that the occurrence of mast-seeding years is largely unrelated to plant population CV, but similar across species and data collection methods.”

My admiration goes to those of you who understand the explanation. I decided to forego the technical aspects and accept the fact that some years nut crops are heavier than others. According to the University of Florida Extension of Escambia County, “The term “mast year” comes from the botanical term, mast, for tree fruit—seeds, nuts, acorns, etc. Nuts and acorns are considered “hard mast,” while berries and apples are “soft mast.”

I wondered about the reasons for such a variance and the impact of a mast year on deer and turkey populations. Walden Extension (Orange County, New York) gave a clear, understandable explanation: “One hypothesis is that it is a survival strategy.  Oak trees depend on small mammals such as chipmunks and squirrels, and birds such as blue jays and woodpeckers for seed dispersal.  When there is an overabundance of acorns produced, not all of them will be eaten, ensuring that some of them will be able to germinate and grow into trees.

The acorn production cycle also has huge effects on the forest food web.  Just under 100 species depend on the acorn as a primary source of food including birds, black bears, chipmunks, deer, mice, and squirrels.  When the forest floor is full of acorns, the species that depend on the acorns for food have an easier winter. This results in an increase in the animal population the following year.  Mast years use a lot of the tree’s resources, so they are often followed by a few years of lean or average acorn production. In years when there are fewer acorns, fewer animals survive, keeping the population in balance.”

As I went further down this rabbit hole, I learned that mast years are considered bonus seasons for those who hunt turkeys and deer for sport and consumption. I couldn’t resist including some Turkey Trivia Tidbits from the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources:

• North American wild turkeys have five sub-species: Eastern (found here in South Carolina), Osceola, Rio Grande, Merriam’s, and Gould’s.

• An adult wild turkey has about 5,500 feathers, including 18 tail feathers that make up the male's distinct fan.

• Wild turkeys can fly and have a top flight speed of about 55 miles per hour.

• Wild turkeys see in color and have excellent daytime vision, three times better than a human's eyesight, with a visual field of more than 270 degrees.

• The wild turkey is an omnivore. It feeds on acorns, nuts, seeds, berries, greens as well as insects, small amphibians and reptiles.

• Turkey droppings tell a bird’s sex. Male droppings are j-shaped; female droppings are spiral-shaped.

• The male turkey’s head can be red, white, blue or a combination of all three. The wild turkey's bald head and fleshy facial wattles can change color with excitement in seconds.

• The flap of skin that hangs down over a turkey's bill is called a snood and can change color, size, and shape based on mood and activities.

• Adult male turkeys are called toms, and females are called hens. Very young wild turkeys are called poults, juvenile males are jakes, and juvenile females are jennies. A group of turkeys is called a rafter or a flock.

One final insight: Healthy acorns on the ground do not have their caps. While a few may have been dislodged from the tree by animal activity or sharp breeze, most likely those that have retained their caps have been parasitized by the acorn weevil or some other insect and are no longer viable.

Sharp Flowers and Leaves of Rattlesnake Master

This week, I was part of a group walking through the grounds at a local arboretum. In the xeric pocket garden, an unusual plant caught our attention. One of the other students grabbed its spiky seed head and let out a surprised yelp of pain. I have an attraction to sharp, thorny, stickery plants, so had to learn more. The instructor informed us that this oddball was Rattlesnake Master, Eryngium yuccifolium (pronounced er-RIN-jee-um yuk-ki-FOH-lee-um).

While Rattlesnake Master will never win beauty contests, it has some endearing characteristics. It will grow in any type soil, any pH, with almost any water availability. It is cold hardy from zone 3 to 8. Its only cultural demand is full sun. Flower stems will flop in shade or if grown in a rich soil.

The plant has wide leaves with sharp edges, much like a Yucca or Agave. In mid-summer, tall flower stems rise above the basal clump of foliage to heights of four or five feet with an equal spread. Round flowers are greenish white, aging to pale blue. They are stiff, making one think of thistle or Gomphrena blossoms. The fragrant flowers attract pollinators. They can be used as specimens, since the seed heads give interest throughout the winter. While they are fine in dry soil, plants tolerate boggy areas so they can be used near water features or ponds. Avoid placing them where passersby can inadvertently contact the sharp seed heads or leaf tips, or they may have the same pained reaction as my fellow student.

Rattlesnake Master is native to the central US. It earned its common name from the belief that it could be used to treat snakebite. Sadly, this is not true. Native Americans used it medicinally for other purposes.

Rattlesnake Master is rarely troubled by deer or rabbits, but voles may nibble at the crowns.

The flowers of Rattlesnake Master, Eryngium yuccifolium, age from greenish white to pale blue.

Spiky seed heads remain after flowers are spent.

Mature plant is more than head high.

Romantic Name for a Native Shrub

During my weekly walk through our woodlands, my attention was drawn by a bright spot of color. It was the brilliantly colored seed clusters of Euonymus americanus, (yoo-ON-uh-mus ah-mer-uh-KAY-nus), commonly called Strawberry Bush or Hearts-a-Busting. As we were growing up, my sister called these Cat’s Paws. There is a strong resemblance between the seed clusters and the bottoms of my cat’s feet. The flowers occur in late spring to early summer and are forgettable – small, with yellow-green petals. In contrast, the seeds clusters are quite noticeable, with orange-red berries bursting from a burgundy capsule. The contrast sounds ugly, but is quite beautiful. The unripe seed capsules resemble strawberries, hence the common name. Leaves are narrow, medium green, and about three inches long. You are most likely to notice Strawberry Bush in fall, when their seeds color up and leaves turn yellow-green or occasionally red. Do not confuse this native with its cousin, Euonymus alatus, “Burning Bush” which is known for its brilliant red fall foliage.

Strawberry Bush is native to the southeast. It will thrive in sun or shade in zones 6-9, and is not demanding although it enjoys a soil containing plenty of organic matter. Observers are most likely to find them in areas that are protected by surrounding vegetation since deer like to nibble. Songbirds and wild turkeys eat the seeds and spread them about.

Strawberry Bush looks best in shady woodlands. Although low-maintenance, think twice before placing it in a manicured border. It is not a beauty queen. Its stems are green year-round, but the form is sort of gangly. Shrubs spread by suckering, which adds to the unkempt appearance. They reach heights up to six feet wide with a similar spread. Use them in native gardens or as a native hedge.

Enjoy the orange-red seeds with darker purple-red sepals but don’t be tempted to taste test. The seeds are mildly toxic and cause significant stomach upset.

Do not confuse native Euonymous americanus with the non-native Euonymous alata, commonly known as Burning Bush. Burning Bush has brilliant red fall color. The seeds look a little bit like Strawberry Bush, but they are held in singles instead of clusters. Euonymous alata is invasive. “Invasive” means that it will spread and will out-compete native shrubs. It is tempting to use the words invasive and aggressive interchangeably but they are not the same. An aggressive plant spreads energetically but does not displace native plants. Know the difference, and try to use the correct term. Currently, responsible landcape designers in the southeastern US will not recommend the invasive Burning Bush. A new, sterile form was recently introduced. So, there is still a possibility that we can enjoy the gorgeous fall color of Burning Bush without concern for invasiveness. Stay tuned as I follow the news about trials of the non-invasive version, Fire Ball Seedless® Burning Bush, a Proven Winners introduction.

Strawberry Bush or Hearts-a-Busting plants love a woodland setting.

Native Euonymous americanus is seen here coexisting with wild grape.

Euonymous americanus flowers, courtesy of Wikipedia

This is the invasive Euonymous alata, Burning Bush. If you love its fall color, plant ONLY the new, sterile form.

Anise Shrubs for the Garden

It seems unfair that bright yellow ‘Florida Sunshine’ Illicium is getting landscape attention to the exclusion of other species, so I want to share the love with other Illicium that are garden worthy.

Illicium floridamum, pronounced il-LISS-ee-um flor-ih-DAY-num, is commonly called Florida Anise, Mexican Anise, or Purple Anise. It is native to the southeastern US and Mexico. Plants are cold hardy in zones 7 – 10. Florida Anise will attain heights up to ten feet when grown in rich soil. Leaves are thick, shiny, and evergreen. The texture and scent of the leaves deter damage from deer or rabbits. The crushed leaves smell a bit like licorice. Unfortunately, its lovely reddish flowers stink like stale fish. This does not deter pollinators, who flock to the blooms. Plants are supposed to flower in early spring, but I have seen several in flower this September, likely a byproduct of the abnormal weather this year.

Florida Anise loves damp shade. It is not drought tolerant. Leaves and flowers are toxic to humans and livestock. There are multiple cultivars available with different shades of flowers (pink to maroon); some have variegated foliage. There are several dwarf cultivars which are easier to incorporate into a foundation planting on the shady side of the house. Keep their water needs in mind when picking a location.

Illicium parviflorum, Yellow Anise, is more cold hardy and larger than the Florida Anise. It grows well in zones 6-9, and will reach up to twelve feet if left unpruned. It likes partial shade and can tolerate occasional drought. Its crushed leaves are fragrant like Florida Anise, but the pale yellow flowers do not smell bad. It is reputed to be deer tolerant. It can be used as a hedge or as a foundation plant where space allows. The plant is toxic; do not eat or allow pets and children to eat.

The aforementioned popular ‘Florida Sunshine’ is a cultivar of Illicium parviflorum. Its yellow foliage brightens a shady bed where another popular yellow shrub, ‘Sunshine’ Ligustrum, might suffer from low light. Too much sunshine results in bleached leaves or crispy leaf margins on the Anise. It is less deer resistant than the darker green leaf types.

A third Anise, Illicium henryi, is commonly called Henry Anise or Chinese Anise. It has been difficult for me to locate this shrub in local nurseries or online. This China native is shorter (only 6-8 feet) and will tolerate more sun than those above. Flowers are orange, pink, or red.

Illicium floridanum

Illicium parviflorum

Strawberry Begonia - A Well-Behaved Groundcover for Shade

Strawberry Begonia plant is not a strawberry and is not a begonia. Instead, this shade-loving groundcover is Saxifraga stolonifera, pronounced SAK·suh·fra·guh stoh-lon-NIF-er-rah. The species name, stolonifera, gives a strong indicator of its growth habit. It spreads by strawberry-like runners, above-ground stolons with tips that sprout roots and develop into new plants. Strawberry Begonia can spread itself into a clump of two feet or so, but this native of China and Japan is not considered invasive. It is an excellent alternative to Ajuga, which spreads aggressively.

When not in flower, plants are only six to eight inches tall. The white flowers are held on thin stems that may rise up to 16 inches. The flowers are not unattractive (see photo) but this plant is grown for its rounded leaves marked with white or silver veins. The leaves make one think of Cyclamen or African Violet.

I prefer the straight species, but there are several cultivars of Strawberry Begonia that offer special features. I was able to find variegated ‘Tri-color’ in the market, but so far have not been successful in finding golden-leaved ‘Harvest Moon’ or blushed ‘Maroon Beauty.’ While I was plant shopping online, I learned that many nursery sources use the common name Strawberry Geranium. I also found that this is just one member of a huge family, Saxifragaceae.

Strawberry Begonia is perennial and evergreen to semi-evergreen in zones 6-10. It will need some extra protection in the cooler parts of zone 6. It demands full shade or mostly shade. It is not selective as to soil pH or texture, but it does need a bit of extra irrigation during extended dry weather to look its best. It is rarely troubled by pests or diseases.

Strawberry Begonia can be grown outdoors in a hanging basket or indoors as a houseplant. If you choose the houseplant route, place it in an area with bright, indirect light. A tiny bit of direct sun can produce a pink tint in the leaves, but use care to avoid too much or too intense sun exposure.

Strawberry Begonia, Saxifraga stolonifera, grows in this shady bed along with Hosta, Begonia grandis, and ferns.

This tiny Strawberry Begonia experienced an unintended separation from the mother plant (clumsy gardener) so it has moved to a small container in the greenhouse, where it is in training to become a houseplant.

Princess Flowers Grace The Garden

My Princess Flower started blooming this week. It has a lovely, deep purple flowers and velvety leaves. Princess Flower, Tibouchina urvilleana, is a tropical plant, reliably perennial only in zone 9 and warmer. It may return in zone 8 after a warm winner, but only if planted in spring so that it has a full season for roots to become well-established before cold weather arrives. I purchased mine in late summer last year, so I took “insurance” cuttings to overwinter in the greenhouse. The one that was planted outdoors did not survive, so I am happy that I had a backup plan. The rooted cuttings went into the ground in spring and have grown into good size plants. The flowers are so lovely that I will repeat the cuttings procedure again to be certain that I do not lose it entirely.

Tibouchina, pronounced tie-buh-CHEE-nuh, is native to Brazil. In its native area, it can grow to heights of 6-8 feet. In ideal situations it can even attain heights of 15 feet on more. Here in the southeast, it is grown as an annual or as a houseplant. Outdoors, give it full sun or mostly sun. It is moderately drought tolerant, but will flower more extravagantly if you provide supplemental water during extended dry weather. Princess Flower has an open, gangly habit so it looks best in a mixed planting instead of in swaths.

One of the prettiest applications I have seen for Tibouchina was during a fundraiser garden tour. At the last minute (the night before the tour), one of the garden owners decided that she needed something to decorate her ticket sales area. She bought a Tibouchina that had been tree formed, and dropped it into a decorative container. Her garden was expansive and lovely. And what plant drew the most attention? The last minute Tibouchina.