That Supposed to Be Red

This is one of those perennials that I started from seed, and this is the year they are supposed to leap (you know - sleep … creep … leap). Now in their third spring, I might sense a little hop, but no leaping. I read they are also called Painted Daisy, although I always considered another plant as that name.

Seeds for pyrethrum, (Tanacetum coccineum), a native to southeast Asia, were purchased and planted in the spring 2016. I was drawn to 'Jame Kellwway' pyrethrum for its deep red petals and yellow button centers. No blooms that year. Last year, they produced about 3 blooms on 5 plants. This year, three plants have survived and thrived, and are producing a few more blooms, although I would not consider their numbers excessive.

Stems are strong (thank heaven because of the spring storms), upright, and flowers are about 2 inches across at most (5 cm). Thus far, blooms have lasted four days and show their age by fading when older. Leaves are lacey fern-like. Last year, the plants all about disappeared toward the end of summer and I thought I lost them.

The garden catalog photos lied - are you surprised? The color is actually a deep magenta -- not red. it's very appropriate if you have a darker colored background, but I see them getting lost because of their size and low density when placed in a vibrant field of other plants.

Directions for growing pyrethrum call for deadheading in order to produce more blooms. We will see. They also make good cut flowers, so let's try that to help encourage more blossoms. They are in mostly full sun, on a slope, and seem to love the conditions. Because of their light thin foliage, it's easy to lose them as they are emerging in the spring. Maybe I lost a plant or two when I was taking out weeds this spring. New plants take some time for me to become familiar with their leaf structure.

For The Record:   • Heavy clay soil with organic amendments & mulch   • Full sun   • Small amount of fertilizer   • No serious pests/disease

Chocolate Flower

This is the second year for my perennial Chocolate flower (Berlandiera lyrata), planted from seed last year. It survived the winter, but hey, that's not saying much. I had nicotiana survive this past mild winter.

I think I dumped half the seed pack into one container in early spring 2016, and had so-so luck with germination. I transplanted four seedlings into a harsh area, since I read they are native to the southwest (United States) and are not fond of the good soils here in the east. They survived full sun at the intersection of the concrete driveway and wood deck steps.

One plant did produce about 3 blooms last summer; the others were too small. This year, I planted a few more from seed and when large enough, transplanted to the same spot, hoping they would grow into those wonderful pictures in the seed catalogs. Note: transplanting seems to stop their growth. They were doing fine in the yogurt cups, but once hardened off and bedded into the ground, they put on the brakes.

Today, the older plants are blooming - one in particular took off leaving the rest behind. Almost daily, one or two flowers greet me in the morning on the way from porch to car. They last about 2-3 days. The other plants from last year have yet to really wake up.

The flowers are small and lemony yellow, about 1-inch (2.5 cm) diameter, and not abundant. Plants are spindly, untidy, and a short 12-inches (30 cm) high, making neighbors wonder what's up (or down) when I am on my hands and knees to get a hit of their fragrance. And, the fragrance comes though in the morning. In the evening, the flowers have no scent. I would never grow these as an accent or as a visual specimen plant.

And an answer for the final question: yes! They really do smell like chocolate. Not a little like chocolate, but 100% like chocolate. I can't believe enough of these would ever make Willie Wonka happy and "perfume the entire garden", but if you are good at occasionally bending over to get your nose close to the ground, you could enjoy the novelty.

For The Record:   • Dry, well-drained soil, some organic material added   • Full sun   • Small amount of slow-release fertilizer   • No serious pests/disease Garden Calendar:   • Blooming: nasturtium, coneflower, rudbeckia, daylily, hydrangea, marigold, phlox, geranium, yarrow, nicotiana   • Harvested: garlic

Blue Collar

This is the first year the penstemon is blooming with any kind of presence. Say hello to Rocky Mountain Blue -- and I am proud to say that I started this perennial from seed in 2015. Again, this was one of the seeds I obtained from the annual February seed exchange that I have been attending but will skip in the future.

I took loving care of the beadtongue (who thought up that name) and placed it in a prime spot that was regularly mulched, and was in full sun. During the first summer, the 5 plants stayed healthy and vigorous, although no flowers appeared. No pests appeared on them, either.

Last year, the five plants produced one flower spike -- a very electric blue. The slight shades of purple around the edges of the more mature petals gave it an iridescent appearance in the sun. But only one flower spike? The blooms also are clustered along one side of the stalk.

I researched my western U.S. native to find that it prefers western conditions. This means rather dry, sandy,well-drained soils without a lot of rich organic material. Sort of a tough, blue collar kinda of plant. I have it in mulch in rather rich soils. That is probably why the leaves were so healthy I thought.

I stopped fertilizing, and let it be. This year, about 20 spikes showed up on what now looks like one plant clump. It certainly does not look like the full dense photos in the garden catalogs. Time to divide already? Most blooms are gone now, but a few remain in time for me to finally get a new post up. One note: after the stalks are finished blooming, they tend to fall over.

The plant has an interesting history. It first appeared in the 1700s in publications, and was named pentstemon from "pent" and "stamen" for the unusual 5th stamen. Penstemon, native to North America and Asia, became very popular in Europe where many hybrids were bred. Sounds very similar to the history of the sunflower -- another North American native -- that was taken to Europe, hybridized, and made its way back to North American gardens. The name of this one, Rock Mountain, suggests it is a cultivar developed here.

I think this may be a candidate for the hell strip garden - dry, rather poor soils, and in need of blooms at this time before the coneflowers and rudbeckia. Do you think it would grow there?

For The Record:   • Clay soil with & plenty of mulch and organic amendments   • Full sun   • Small amount of fertilizer   • No serious pests/disease Garden Calendar:   • Blooming: nasturtium, phlox, poppies, rose, kniphophia, nicotiana,     coreopsis, peony, geranium, marigold   • Harvested: cilantro

Red Eyes This Year

I am finding it more difficult to write for my blog. There is a backlog of photos sitting on my computer waiting to be posted once the stories are written. Another online gardening project is taking my time - our Master Gardener web site. I am webmaster for this new project (we see as a new service to the community) that launched last May 2015. It is updated every month, and in addition to producing the layout, graphics, etc. I occasionally dabble with a little writing.

But this post is about the red eyes. Last year, I wrote about the rudbeckia Irish Eyes [posted 2015.06.01] with the green centers that did not stay green as time went on. I also wrote that the eyes did not glow red, but that statement was made too soon.

The Irish Eyes reseeded themselves and this spring, I expected to be singing 'Oh Danny Boy' in a field of Irish babies. Instead I got Rosemary's Babies. A few of the blooms did have green eyes, but most of the eyes were curiously red. These were not a fiery chili pepper red, but more like a Carol Burnett red.

Apparently Irish Eyes, a cultivar like many of the green-eyed rudbeckia, had this unusual red-centered rudbeckia as a parent. The centers are more of a round iridescent red globe that gradually goes black as the bloom matures and the center opens.

A few of the new plants sported some darker rings on the petals near the centers, and thinner petals. I still like the variety produced, and hope they come back in future years as these have done - with red, green, and black eyes.

For The Record:   • Average soil with organic amendments over time   • Full sun   • Little fertilizer   • Decent drainage   • A few mites in the spring, otherwise pest free Garden Calendar:   • Blooming: mexican zinnia, cosmos, rudbeckia, marigold, zinnia, datura   • Harvested: 1 pepper, 2 zucchini, 3 tomatoes (it been a bad year for them), numerous peperoncinis

Getting Stoked

These beauties started out as seeds. They were picked up at the annual seed exchange in February 2015. I had heard of Stokesia (Stokesia laevis) before, but only vaguely remembered that it was a perennial, and that I would not mind having it.

Seeds were started last spring, and then seedlings went into the garden. I picked out a nice spot that was full of sun and good soil. The good soil part is a relative term -- relative to the soil around the property.

They grew beautiful full leaves and no flowers. This year, they sprung to life. Excitement built as the first buds started to emerge a few months ago. Then more excitement as stems branched out with even more buds. Were they blue? Were they pink? Where they bi-color? Who knew? Maybe they were not stokesia. After all, I have picked up bulbs labeled 'dwarf orange gladiolus' to find they were purple upon blooming. And, I planted a few things that never germinated, like Scabiosa, the same year.

The photos show the show at the beginning. This proud dad of a new perennial was very happy. They make good indoor cut flowers -- until all those strand-like petals decide to drop off. They close up at night and only fully open in direct sun. Clouds also tend to close them a little.

The 2-inch (5 cm), larger-than-expected flowers are a blueish purple that fade lighter as they age. The biggest issue I have is that they flopped over. The five plants relied upon each other to prop themselves up, but with a little wind, they now all fell over.

Stokesia or Stokes Aster, is a member of the daisy / aster family, and is native to the southeastern United States. There! I planted another native without knowing it was a native. It prefers wet or soggy areas, and is evergreen in some southern areas, but likes heat, and thus is considered drought tolerant. It was named after English botanist Jonathan Stokes. Shouldn't we have native plants named after native Americans?

For The Record:   • Well-drained loose fertile soil   • Full sun   • Small amount of fertilizer in autumn   • No serious pests/disease   • Tends to fall over upon blooming Garden Calendar:   • Blooming: cosmos, phlox, rudbeckia, echinacea, liatris, marigold, Russian sage, daylilies   • Harvested: cilantro, dill, onions

Lemon Rod

This is the year of the great move. Several plants were languishing in their original locations, so I thought a move would do them good. One of them was a gift plant of Goldenrod (solidago) Little Lemon. I read the tag. I trusted it: Full sun to partial shade. So partial shade is where it went last spring. I never asked it where it wanted to go, but just placed it there. It got full sun in the morning, but Little Lemon was turning out to be a big lemon. A few flower spikes and only about 9 inches tall (30 cm) was all it could muster.

Early spring, and a new set of hollies replacing the overgrown ones out front left a lot of space to fill in. I moved Little Lemon to a sunnier spot there, and she took off running. Many stems and many blooms later, I find some of the results of the first year are traits of this cultivar, and traits that I do not care for.

The height is about 10-inches (25 cm) which is normal for this patented cultivar, but that's fine by me. Flowers are bushy and full. Their color is not the deep rich gold of the species, but a lemon yellow that gets lighter as a bloom matures. That adds richness and variation, but the blossoms are blooming at different times, giving a look that is not uniform. The flower heads remind me of Sideshow Bob's (of The Simpsons cartoon) hair.

Rudbeckia grows anywhere it wants to like in
the middle of solidago.

Finally, the plant does not stand up. This is the most annoying characteristic. Being so short and with the species tall and sturdy, I did not expect this. I wonder if the plant would be better by getting fuller and using itself for support.

So, after researching information about Little Lemon for this post, I read that it really prefers full sun. No kidding. Don't trust the tags

For The Record:   • Loose clay soil with organic amendments and mulch   • Good drainage   • Full sun   • No fertilizer   • No serious pests/disease

Goldfinches: Messy Little Piggies

Burpee'e Elf sunflowers were planted for the second year, using up leftover seed. These dwarf sunflowers were placed near the front steps leading to the house -- a happy accident I will describe later. I find that Elf blooms earlier than Sunspot [posted 22.08.2015] -- and are more appetizing to the goldfinches.

Elf produced one main bloom, and numerous side blooms on stems that were of a substantial size for cutting. The blooms had yellow petals with black seed cluster centers. As the seed clusters matured, the goldfinches discovered this tasty treat. And they told their friends, who told their friends. It was not uncommon to see a half dozen goldfinches fluttering in and out of the sunflowers for breakfast.

The little acrobats could balance on top of a bloom, and bend down 180 degrees to the seeds. If some seed dropped, so what. No problem that the seeds fell all over the lower leaves and walks. There was always more. Until they found these this year, only my echinacea seeds were their favorite food source in the yard.

The plants were a maximum of 4-feet tall (1.2 m), although the seed packet states that these are the shortest dwarfs reaching only 30-inches (75 cm). My experience proves otherwise, but they were planted on the west side of the house, so the only sunlight was from noon on. Planting them next to the front steps was right. They all face west toward the front yard and the street, as opposed to the others on the side garden that face my neighbor's yard instead of mine. And being so close to the front door made for some easy bird watching.

Now, after the seeds are picked out and the heads are left, the plants are producing even more blooms, although small and without stems. They are only about 3-inches in diameter (5 cm), but are popping out between the side shoots and the main stalk.

I would highly recommend these as one of the best dwarf sunflowers, for their habit of producing many side shoots worthy of cutting themselves, for their uniformity, for their proportion of seed head to petals, for their reblooming, and for their ability to attract the messy little piggies.

"Let me rip one of these off to get to the seeds easily. Sorry for the mess."

"Did I do that?"

For The Record:   • Heavy clay soil with gypsum & organic amendments   • Mostly sun, west side of house   • Small amount of fertilizer   • No serious pests/disease

The Dwarfs Have No Name?

The dwarf sunflowers tested this year were picked up in a big box store. Ferry-Morse labeled the packet as Sunflower Dwarf Sunspot. I have grown a Sunspot variety [posted 08.07.2007] in the past that was a dwarf, so this extra title Dwarf made me curious. Did the company have a giant named sunspot, too?

It seems, from looking at my description and photos from 2007, that this Sunspot is the same as the first dwarf sunflower tried back in 2008. The current plants happened to be planted in the same location as in 2007, and just as in 2007, are facing away from my yard towards the neighbor to the northeast. I am sure she enjoys them.

I will remind myself that these produce some radical seeds for the seed-lovin birds in the winter, if I can get to the seeds now before they do. The seed heads are packed to the gills, but the blooms were attractive with some great looking petals. Many of the large seed head types are just that -- with few or small unattractive petals.

Where's the Elf? I planted Elf sunflowers last year, but never reviewed them! The leftover seeds were grown this year so the next post will be about these dwarfs from Burpee -- two sunflower reviews in one year to make up for last year.
	Past Dwarf Sunflower Reviews & Links: 2013 - Little Dorrit 2012 - Waooh 2012 - Big BLush 2009 - Incredible 2008 - Sunny Smile 2007 - Sunspot

For The Record:   • Rich soil   • Full sun   • Small amount of fertilizer   • No disease Garden Calendar:   • Blooming: rudbeckia, zinnia, cleome, marigold, moonflower, canna

Skyscrapers of Poppies

The purple poppy towers are blooming. Papaver somniferum have transformed the front garden, with pop-up poppy skyscrapers sprouting randomly: tall, slender, and crowded together.

These are opium poppies, single flowering in a strong magenta. They are not really tall, but their habit of springing up all over and their slender appearance remind me of a skyscraper skyline. They are also not really good for making opium or heroin, since these do not produce the large seed pods that are needed. There are cultivars bred for that purpose.

Some internet sources identified something like these as "Hungarian Blue," but my skyscrapers are not as big, not as tall, and the poppy seeds are not blue (like the edible type found in the supermarket spice aisle.) I do not know their name, but they were yet another seed exchange acquisition three years ago. I am very happy with this pickup.

My skyscrapers were first planted in the 'mountainside' garden (the side yard slope) in autumn. They appeared in spring but were unimpressive, probably because the mountainside was still undergoing "soil improvement." Saving the seeds, they were sown in the front garden with more sun, great soil, and where other somniferum, pink bombast poppies [posted 2013.06.02] could chat with them.

poppies, dill, onions, beans all living together

As chaperone, I of course kept them separated out of caution to prevent any after-hours dalliance. I just did not know if double pink and single purple would produce some one-and-a-half breed. The purples bloomed better in the front yard, although were not as large as the bombasts. Seeds were again scattered last fall. As with all good gardeners, I forgot where things were planted, marker labels washed off, and frost/snow disrupted them.

The pink bombasts have managed to seed themselves into the sidewalk cracks, across the sidewalk, and over the asters and physostegia to the other side of the bed. They really got around (damn I thought I picked off all those seed pods last year.) After all this carousing by the pinks, the purples and pinks are blooming together nicely, and there has been no sign of illegitimates.

P.S.
Some pink bombast poppies have hybridized with the other purple ones. A few purplish-pink single flower poppies have bloomed in the batch of pink ones, planted from seed taken from the pink ones. This is leading me to believe that the single flower trait is dominant, and that some of the purple fertilized the pinks last year to produce this new color.

The purples on the other hand, got spread around after tulips and dill were planted in the same spot - along with spring onions. So instead of a simple cluster, they have this haphazard appearance, like individual narrow skyscrapers, which is alright by me.

For The Record:   • Good soil with organic amendments   • Full sun   • Small amount of fertilizer   • No disease or pests Garden Calendar:   • Blooming: rudbeckia, phlox, poppy, geranium, datura,     tradescantia, echinacea, eschscholzia   • Harvested: lettuce, snow peas, green beans

Green-Eyed Monsters

Their eyes do not stay green. After a few weeks, they begin turning brown and go completely black - just like vampires in horror films. They do not, however, glow red, at least not yet.

Green-eyed susans are what I call them in the presence of my neighbors, allowing them to understand this plant as a form of black-eyes susans. Rudbeckia Hirti - Irish Eyes concluded my second attempt at growing from seed, and a successful lesson in persistence. In the first attempt, all seeds were sown directly in the ground, some germinated, and all passed on for no apparent reason. (Apparent to me.)

I thought to add them to my bucket list of plants (that kicked the bucket) and move on, but I spotted a pack of seeds at the annual seed exchange. I decided to take a chance on the expired seed pack. A few eyes were started indoors and three germinated. They were transplanted last spring, blooming a little last year -- their first year.

This year, the three returned from the hard winter, but one was hurting. Two were merrily growing tall, so I quickly quarantined (pulled out) the sick one, hoping that whatever winter flu it caught was not contagious.

Irish Eyes flowers display narrower petals than my other rudbeckia. Height is about the same at 3-feet (1 meter), which surprised me. I expected shorter. These are robust plants producing loads of flowers. Great posture too; every flower is horizontally flat. They grow fast, and are blooming already before the other rudbeckia.

Like the Rudbeckia hirti, they have come back strong in their second year. I will expect that they too will probably fizzle out next year while their seedlings taking over. My rudbeckia are known as half-hardy perennials. Eyes have last year's offspring growing around in the bed, so I will let them grow to learn if they come back as Irish, (or if their parents have been fooling around with the Mexican zinnias).

amplexicalis

fulgida

occidentalis

I looked for a story behind Irish Eyes and could only find that they are a cultivar (human bred) and not a variety (natural variation). I did find interesting tidbits about rudbeckia.

They are native to the United States east of the Rocky Mountains, and were found in the New World in the 1600s by John Tradescant through French settlers. The originals, like many North American natives, found their way into European gardens, and were rediscovered and planted in American gardens in the mid 1800s. Rudbeckia were named after a Swedish professor of botany, Olaf Rudbeck.

"Rudbeckia are pollinated by insects and, in at least three species, the ultraviolet (UV) reflection patterns are different enough to allow for pollinator discrimination." This is one way pollinators can distinguish between cultivars and species of natives, even though everything else looks the same to us.

There are two dozen species of rudbeckia in North America. Some of the more popular ones are Rudbeckia amplexicalis (aka clasping coneflower or Mexican hat), Rudbeckia occidentalis (aka green wizard), and Rudbeckia fulgida (aka Goldstrum).
(Cultivar photos are not from my garden.)

For The Record:   • Rich soil with organic amendments   • Full sun   • Small amount of fertilizer   • No disease although attracts black aphids Garden Calendar:   • Blooming: rudbeckia, phlox, poppy, geranium, tradescantia

Thomas Jefferson's Chinese Ixia

Belacamda Lily was Belamcanda chinensis until about a year ago. Then botanists started playing with the names of some plants due to newfound genetic knowledge, and presto. The name changed to Iris domestica. Could its leaves actually resemble the irs family?

The seeds hopped into my goodie bag at the annual Seed Swap in February 2012. Here we go again with another free plant from the seed swap or from a neighbor. During the first year, they were sown indoors and transplanted, producing one flower stalk that summer. The next year, (last summer) the plant came back half-heartedly, but did not bloom.

Seeds were also sent to Thomas Jefferson in 1807. He planted them in a Monticello flower garden, and referred to them as 'Chinese Ixia.' Today they are found naturalized around the grounds at Monticello.

This is not a lily but it is from China, central Asia, and India. It was used in some Chinese medicine, but analysis shows it to be mildly toxic. Recent tests on mice indicate a possible benefit in fighting prostate cancers - at least in mice.

My plant from last summer came around this year after surviving the harsh winter. I also planted a few seeds remaining from the 2012 seed swap batch. One germinated and survived without receiving much attention. The two healthy plants started blooming a week ago, so they bloom in their first year.

I was smart to place them right up front along the walk where they can be seen. Even though tall at 2-feet (60 cm) they can be lost visually if not in your face. The seed pods upon opening reveal seed clusters resembling blackberries, giving it the nickname 'blackberry lily.' My remaining seeds will be planted, along with any new seed from these plants, in hopes of creating a clump for next year.

For The Record:   • Light clay soil with organic amendments   • Full sun   • Small amount of fertilizer   • No disease although suspected iris borer attack Garden Calendar:   • Blooming: cosmos, mexican zinnia, zinnia, cleome, sunflowers, phlox, rudbeckia, echinacea, hosta   • Harvested: 12 peppers, 6 tomatoes

Fibonocci Coneflowers

Fibanocci patterns are found in the seeds of a sunflower head, and in the head of a coneflower. My sunflowers are not yet blooming, so come on and admire the coneflowers.

OK, it's time for your math class. Leonardo Pisano Fibonocci was an 11th century mathematician who brought the Arabic numbers we use today to the merchant world to replace the cumbersome Roman numerals. He also pondered (mathematically speaking) the successive reproductive growth of rabbit populations. (Only a mathematician...) He applied an old Indian Hindu numbering sequence to develop a formula calculating the count over time. The Hindu sequence is what we (our Western-centric society) now call the Fibonocci sequence. The sequence adds the previous two numbers in a series to arrive at the next one: 0,1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34...

But nature had already discovered this and was using it in all sorts of ways. The mathematical logarithmic spiral of a nautilus shell, the branching of certain trees, and the spiral seed arrangements of sunflowers and coneflowers all use this sequence or a formulation of it.

According to Innovation Factory, the image is a "Yellow Chamomile head showing the arrangement in 21 (blue) and 13 (aqua) spirals. Such arrangements involving consecutive Fibonacci numbers appear in a wide variety of plants. Plants produce their leaves and seeds from a growth tip that spirals around the plant or center of the seed head as it goes -- the most efficient way to pack seeds into the seed head... You get the closely packed Fibonacci spirals of seeds, with the number of clockwise and anticlockwise spirals at any point on the seed head a pair of successive Fibonacci numbers." Sure enough, my coneflower has 13 spirals in one direction, and 21 in the other.

Writing of coneflowers (Echinacea), I offer some observations on the three types in my garden: native Echinacea purpurea, Sundown of the Big Sky series, and Coconut Lime. The original echinacea purpurea are the most drough-tolerant, but the flower petals can droop, leaving a large prominent seed head. Bumblebees love them, and so do the goldfinches who perch on top and chow down. They are taller than the others with the largest flowers and largest seed cones -- making it easy for the finches to fly in for a snack.

The flowers can vary in their color intensity for no apparent reason -- some being a dark purple-pink, while others are light pink. They do have a distinct fragrance. Speaking of rabbits multiplying, they also easily seed themselves in my habitat.

Sundown, part of the Big Sky series, is what happens when breeders get involved. This coneflower puts out a riot of blooms early, then dies out before summer ends. The blooms start out with an beautiful orange color then fade in a few days into an dirty washed-out salmon. Deadheading does not seem to help the plant continue into the summer, as foliage turns a dark bronze like it has given up making chlorophyll. The plant goes ugly on me and slowly melts away until next year. The internet is full of stories of disappointments on this one.

Coconut Lime, another plant breeder introduction, looks different than the others. The blooms start out with petals and centers looking like the native, but the centers begin to increase into larger pompoms. The blooms last a long time, but bees never touch them. I suspect the thick pompoms prevent them from getting to the pollen, or the pollen is not to their liking. Height is much shorter than the other two coneflowers at about 16-inches (40 cm.)

For The Record:   #&149; Full sun   • Small amount of fertilizer on the Sundown   • Some early season pests eat bloom petals & leaves Garden Calendar:   • Blooming: coneflowers, liatris, rudbeckia, daisy, monarda,      echinops, phlox, daylilies, bachelor button, zinnia, hydrangea   • Harvested: 20 onions, green beans

Hyacinths Sliced And Diced

The hyacinths (Hyacinth orientalis) are in bloom, even ones that were hacked to pieces last year. I was digging in the dirt to make room for some pepper plants in the front cottage garden. A few good-looking vegetables are now planted in this garden, and last year bell pepper plants were being set down. The trowel blasted into a few white hyacinth bulbs below the surface that forgot to tell me where they were hiding.

The pieces were cleaned off and planted with hope they would multiply like a starfish, each piece growing anew. It worked! This year, all pieces grew, and they all had blooms, more or less. These are not Fine Gardening Magazine materials, but blooms nonetheless. White blooms came up from the remnants, although some only have three or four flowers in the cluster.

My other mistake was to plant some of the chunks on top of previously established tulips as well as previous planted blue Sky Jacket hyacinths. Anyone read the book, "Now Where Did I Plant Those?"

In past years, hyacinths forced inside were later planted outdoors. The following spring will

bring small blooms, but great blooms the year after. (Being toxic, they make a lovely addition to my poison garden.) So, the blue Sky Jacket hyacinths finished their blooms, and were planted in the front cottage garden. (Note, when forced indoors, the color is a lighter blue.) A month later, when hyacinth leaves had died down, it was pepper planting time. Does my spring bulb arrangement announce, "Drunken gardener lives here?" For The Record:   • Rich well-drained soil   • Full sun   • No fertilizer   • No serious pests/disease Garden Calendar:   • Blooming: hyacinth, magnolia, rhododendron mucronulatum,     Ice follies daffodils

Annual Annuus Report

If you read A Leafy Indulgence often (does anyone?), you know I try different dwarf sunflowers (Helianthus annuus) and peppers every year and report on them. This year the sunflower honor goes to Little Dorrit, although not much by choice.

When I cruised through the catalogs last year, I did not stop on dwarf sunflower pages. A lot of the varieties I saw were those I had planted before. Then I forgot about dwarf sunflowers until it was too late to order from a catalog. While at a local nursery, a rather expensive one (are there really any inexpensive ones?) I picked up (yes, it was purchased) a packet of Little Dorrit. There was nothing little about them.

First, I find during writing this post that Little Dorrit was a serial novel by Charles Dickens about debtors prisons, reversal of fortune, and newfound wealth. Not so with the sunflowers.

The Stats
They were planted in the usual sunny spot along the front walk to the house. They ended up taller than most dwarf sunflowers of my past experience at 4-feet in height (120 cm) when they were upright. The flowers were a whopping 11-inches in diameter (30 cm). This puts the blooms at a normal sunflower size. So, the plant height was dwarf, but not the flowers.

Each stalk produced one bloom - no multiples on this one. They grew fast, flowered, and were done. When the flowers reached their full size, they bent downward, preventing anyone from visually enjoying them. The flowers were balanced atop a large central seed head, with small petals arranged around it. The head of seeds will definitely end up feeding the cardinals, but did not make a great visual impression. Unfortunately, you must take my word - the photo was taken after Little Dorrit bloomed.

I found that some dwarfs will produce multiple blooms, and some do not. The ones with the most attractive blooms and larger petals tend to have the smaller seed heads, while the others are for the birds. Here is a quick trip through the varieties tried and written about in past years.

Burpee Big Blush Multi-bloom, attractive bloom	Waooh Great blooms, multi stem
Incredible Inconsistent height, bloom	Sunny Smile Truly dwarf, good bloom
Sunspot Large seed head

For The Record:   • Well drained soil with organic amendments   • Full sun   • Small amount of fertilizer   • Leaves ravaged by grasshopper or slugs Garden Calendar:   • Blooming: cosmos, echinacea, mexican zinnia, zinnias, lavender, rudbeckia, phlox, cleome, nicotiana   • Harvested: 1 pepper, 6 cucumbers, 1 zucchini

Sundown Goes Down

Several years ago, new echinacea varieties were the rage. Every garden catalog seemed to tout their company's latest propagations. I didn't buy an iPhone or iPad when they were first introduced to the world, but I was sucked into buying two new echinacea.

I consider the purple coneflower a gold standard for its toughness and its ability to grow. My clump has been divided numerous times. Coconut Lime was the first new variety that I reviewed [posted 2012.07.05]. All I can say is that I got my money's worth: reliable, interesting, pest resistant, and pretty much everblooming though the summer (better than the native purple coneflower.) Its new bred sibling is, however, is another story.

The second new echinacea was a salmon-orange number named Sundown and one of the five 'Big Sky' varieties. It came out roaring during its first spring, and then flamed out. The entire plant just gave up in the heat of summer. The second year was better, coming on strong again in the spring, only to just as strongly poop out by summer. It did stay alive and above ground. Last year, I noticed fewer blooms, but its leaves again stayed around until disappearing in the fall. They curled, turning a nice lovely brown before doing so. Flowers are listed as fragrant? Ha, right - in another world.

Not many blooms appeared this year, and most had inconsistent petal arrangement. I deadheaded, hoping for a repeat bloom. Leaves are turing a rust copper color today, maybe like a sundown on Mars. Always 30-inches high (75 cm), Sundown has never grown beyond its original size. These photos were taken in a previous year and this spring. Notice the lower leaves on the lower picture.

The location in a new bed with still-improving soil can be partly to blame for the performance and research indicates it needs more regular watering than the native. Further reading on garden forums paints a different picture than the catalogs. With their high expectations for the Big Sky series after reading the hype, other gardeners leave a trail of comments such as very disappointing, mutant, grew next to Chernobyl (my favorite), dud, Big Sky Coneflowers Suck, inferior, deformed, and stunted.

My advice: if you see Sundown for sale, run away.

For The Record:   • Moderate heavy clay soil with ongoing amendments   • Full sun   • Small amount of fertilizer   • Poor performer not lasting past spring   • No pests Garden Calendar:   • Blooming: cosmos, all zinnias, phlox, marigolds, sunflowers, echinacea, nicotiana, buddleia, rudbeckia   • Harvested: 2 peppers, 2 tomatoes, 8 cucumbers