The Encores are on everyone’s list these days, and why not? They are fantastic houseplants, sending out blooms almost every month of the year if kept indoors properly. (Speaking of Scots, this year-round bloom business reminds me of Miss Walker of Drumsheugh. She felt about plants the way her fellow Victorians seemed to feel about children: why stop at just one or two if you can have a dozen? Now, Rhododendrons were streaming into Britain at this time, so Miss Walker could have stocked her considerable garden with many, many more. But she “restrained” herself to about 50, choosing them carefully to assure herself of having at least one in bloom every month of the year! This was in 1860, no less, and here we are nearly 150 years later, still limiting our gardens to spring bloomers with the occasional fall rebloomer! –Of course, Miss Walker had a few pennies to rub together, and a lovely conservatory, and plenty of staff, and leisure time — all those perks of a bygone age!)
But back to modern times. The Encores are absolutely priceless for gardeners who can’t bear to see the end of those spring blooms: they should grow several indoors for yearround beauty and more in the garden, where they send out a few summer blossoms and then fully bloom again in autumn.
Beyond the Encores, we carry a good line of many of the major groups: the Exburys, Leaches, Robin Hills, and even a Tony Shammarello and a bonsai Satsuki. For customers looking for cold-hardiness, Golden Lights is absolutely the best. It’s hardy into zone 4, and was bred in Minnesota, so you can imagine it’s felt a chill or two. This Azalea is one of the many bred from Northern Lights, and we chose it because it’s easily the most mildew-resistant and among the most fragrant. Now, the Robin Hill Hybrids are good for the north too because they bloom much later than others. Betty Anne Voss is a big favorite because the blooms are large and double, and the habit is semi-weeping. But my personal favorite will always be Hilda Niblett. There’s something about that ground-hugging habit just covered in big peach and white blooms that does it for me.
For those with the opposite problem — too much heat, with its attendant evil of mildew — the classic Exbury Gibraltar is the best choice through zone 8. And Betty Anne Voss goes into zone 9 with great vigour. Yaku Princess, a Tony Shammarello hybrid, is simply one of the hardiest Rhododendrons of all, and its densely set, evergreen habit is a year-round pleasure. I would recommend it for north and south alike, including “difficult” climates where other cultivars may not have been successful.
For those looking for a longer season of bloom, aside from the Encores, the David Leach hybrids are to be recommended. Everything about these cultivars is top drawer, from flower size to hardiness to colour — look at the colour of Trinidad! And Capistrano is the clearest, purest yellow in the entire family, I believe. These are rugged shrubs bred by perhaps the best modern Rhododendron plantsman of all. (I mustn’t shun those intrepid Victorian plant-hunters!)
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What’s the most common mistake folks make? Pruning in fall. You might think it would be safe, because these shrubs bloom in late spring, but they set their new buds right about now, and if you lop them off, you’ll get nothing next spring. Most horticulturalists will tell you the cutoff date is July 31; in warm climates you can push it a bit, but absolutely not into September.
That said, sometimes any plant needs an emergency trim. You should never hesitate to prune your azalea or rhododendron — or anything else, come to it — if you see dead or infected wood. Cut well below the damaged part and get the branch out of the garden pronto. If you keep a stack of garden debris for burning, all the better. Just don’t put it on the compost heap, or the disease might spread to your new soil.
Now, many an azalea and rhodie have gone their whole lives without ever being pruned, and this is just fine. They don’t need it to stimulate bud production, and most are pretty nicely shaped just as they are. But sometimes they outgrow their spot and you don’t want to move them. Other times you have to move them, in which case you should do a root prune if you possibly can. More about that in a sec.
Here are some general guidelines for pruning these shrubs:
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Gardening must be the last best refuge of optimists.
In what other endeavour do you hear quite reasonable people say, “It looks a little sparse now, but in five or ten years . . . ” Or spend an entire weekend digging in the garden, only to finish the task with the satisfaction of seeing . . . a lot of bare soil, without the promise of a green shoot for six months or so. (Bulbs may be easy, but they aren’t quick.)
Sometimes even fast-growing perennials and shrubs take a few seasons to shine, a lesson I learned the hard way when Customer Service called me last week to settle a dispute about the naming of Hydrangea ‘The Swan.’
Apparently customers have been asking what on earth is swan-like about this Hydrangea paniculata hybrid. And our ladies in Customer Service, ever resourceful, have offered a range of responses:
1. The blooms are white. (Brilliant; full marks for simplicity.)
2. The petals are much larger than those of other Hydrangeas . . . the same way a swan is a very large bird. (Well . . . half credit for effort, perhaps.)
3. The enormous bloom trusses lean over a bit toward the tip, like a swan elegantly inclining its neck. (Right — no more caffeine after 10 a.m. in Customer Service, full stop.)
The real reason, it turns out, is that The Swan begins its life as . . . have you already guessed, then? . . . an ugly duckling. As a young shrub, this quick-growing Hydrangea is about as rangy and off-kilter as they come. (With any luck nobody in Customer Service has suggested that the plant’s silhouette looks like a swan flapping its wings. That might be uncomfortably close to the truth.)
Mind you, like most ugly ducklings, The Swan offers plenty of hints about its true merit. It flowers from an early age, and the blooms are truly spectacular, with petals 5 times the size of other Hydrangeas. It is hardy straight through zone 4, and not just able to thrive but determined to bloom — when the inevitable freakishly late spring frost nips back every bud, a lush second set will arise in late summer on new wood.
Yet a 2- or 3-year-old Hydrangea Swan is an ungainly thing. If it could move, it would be flailing.
But if you hang on for a season or two, developing a convincing story for garden visitors about The Swan’s gangly appearance (“The wheelbarrow toppled right over on top of it, flattening the entire plant; we thought we’d lost it . . . “), this shrub will suddenly fill out, straighten up, and sail to victory. Where once there were random branches of varying lengths, abruptly there will be a bushy fullness that resolves itself into elegant layers. Where once there was a shrub appearing in dire need of a good shearing, now there will be a broad, fat, clever plant that will drive garden visitors to envy. And that faint rustling noise you hear? –It’s the sound of baggies being opened inside purses, as your guests surreptitiously reach for their Swiss army knives and perform a little illicit plant propagation.
Whatever you do, don’t stop them from stealing cuttings. Think what fun it will be to visit their gardens in a few years and stare in puzzlement at their unlovely young Swans, declaring, “I can’t imagine what you’re doing wrong.”
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So, what’s up with your butterfly bush? I wish I could tell you that it’s playing possum, and if it were a Daphne, that might just be true. But this is probably a case of, if it looks like a duck and walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…
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