Horticulture Articles

Yucca filamentosa is a plant that doesn’t look like it belongs in a Connecticut garden – too spikey, too dramatic, too Texas.   I came to own one when I was asked to remove a large specimen from a client’s garden.  Two rather muscled minions and I had to eventually use a pick axe to get out the thick fibrous roots.   Of course, some of that root came home with me and the rest is, well, history – and this story.

Yucca filamentosa Photo R. Marsh

Yucca filamentosa, commonly called Adam’s needle around here, Spanish bayonet down south, is native to sandy and open areas in the Southeastern U.S. but has extended its range quite happily into New England.  It has accomplished this by being very adaptable, tolerating poor acid to alkaline soils, and being cold hardy down to Zone 4/5.  The only thing it hates is heavy, waterlogged soil.  It wants full sun but will tolerate part sun.   Given what it wants, this puppy will live for decades.    What more can you ask?

‘Color Guard’ Photo/Walters Gardens Inc.

Interestingly, the Yucca genus is currently in the Asparagaceae (Asparagus) family but at one point was placed in the Liliaceae (lily) then later in Agavaceae (agave) family.  Ah, the wonders of molecular phylogenetics.  Species vary widely in form — from stemless rosettes to

‘Bright Edge’
Photo/Growing Wild Nursery

tree-like giants like Joshua tree (Yucca brevifolia).   Yucca filamentosa is the clumping, stemless rosette type with rigid, sword-shaped, spine-tipped green leaves.  A key identifier is the long curly threads along the margins – yep, filaments.  The plant has me there – I am a foliage gal and what more do you need?   Well maybe color… there are cultivars that spice up the look.   Widely available is ‘Color Guard’ which has broad yellow stripes down the center of the leaf and ‘Bright Edge’ with yellow margins on the outside margins of the leaves.

For you flower folk, a 5-8’ tall flowering stalk rises from the center of each rosette in late spring-summer.   It has multiple panicles of nodding bell-shaped creamy white flowers.   Yucca filamentosa typically flowers every year once mature which can be 3 to 5 years after planting.   My plants do not always flower which could be due to insufficient sunlight, overcrowding, or stress.  When it has finished flowering, you can remove the spent flower stalks at the base.  Or, you can let the seed head, which is quite attractive, stand for a bit.

Yucca moths,
Photo M.J. Hatfield, BugGuide.net

If you have flowers, keep an eye out for the very interesting yucca moth, Tegeticula yuccasella.  Yucca moths and yucca plants depend on each other for reproduction.  The female moth collects pollen from a yucca flower, forms it into a ball, flies to another yucca flower, and deliberately deposits the pollen onto the stigma.   This type of specialized pollination is not common but here is the catch – after pollinating, the female lays eggs in the flower’s ovary.  The moth larvae hatch and feed on a portion of the developing yucca seeds.   The yucca tolerates the seed loss because without the moth, many yucca species produce few or no viable seeds.

Yuccas form a small colony over time as basal offsets, called pups, form around the crown.

Photo, R. Marsh

Remove unwanted pups with a sharp spade.   If you plan to keep the pups, keep several leaves on offsets to they can recover once replanted.   Feel free to put them in containers!    I often use the small pups in containers mixed with sedum.   As they get

Photo, R. Marsh

larger, one is a statement all by itself – on a pedestal or in the

garden.   I overwinter these containers outside with no problem.  Do provide a very well-draining potting mix – I add sand to my mix and give them a light feeding in the spring.  After a few years, they begin to decline due to crowding, at which point they get divided and moved into the garden.   A word of advice: wear gloves and long sleeves when digging into the clump or removing dead leaves.

Photo, R. Marsh

In the ground, care is minimal.  As one might expect, mature plants are drought-tolerant once established, which means water regularly until the roots are well developed – my rule is always three seasons.   It is not a big feeder but if growth is poor or it is not flowering, a light balanced organic fertilizer or top-dress of compost in early spring may be needed.

Photo, Walters Gardens Inc.

Avoid high nitrogen as it promotes soft, floppy leaves.   Insect issues are minimal.  And who would nibble on those sharp, fibrous edged leaves?   Well, apparently the deer of Monroe where a friend’s yucca has the leaf tips and the flower stalks browsed.  Shelton deer are much more discriminating apparently as my plants are unmolested.  It’s always a gamble.

One thing I ask if you plant one: do give it some friends – small native grasses, low growing sedums, or flowering plants.  I hate to see them all alone surrounded by stones or mulch.  This ‘Color Guard’ is so charming softened by flowers.  One of my yuccas hangs out on the corner of a stone wall with a ninebark, ferns, lily of the valley and other assorted characters.   It is a worthy garden member, and in drought conditions, a downright star.

Over the holidays, a friend brought me the most unusual hostess gift: a pine cone.  Not just any pine cone mind you, but one from a Sugar Pine, Pinus lambertiana.  Native to the Pacific coast, the sugar pine is the tallest of all conifers,

Sugar pine cone

reaching record heights of 273 feet, and it bears the largest cones of any conifer—some growing up to 24 inches long.  Sitting on my kitchen table, it looked like something left behind from the Jurassic period (that is a large apple).  I was astonished and, being as botanically obsessive as I am, down the rabbit hole I went.

Conifers are among the most ancient and resilient groups of plants on Earth.  A major group of the gymnosperms, they are characterized by, and named for, their reproductive structure, the cone.   Cones are remarkable adaptations designed to protect and disperse seeds across a wide range of environments.  Each

Eastern white pine male cones

species, be it pines, spruces, firs or hemlocks, has cones with distinct characteristics that are finely tuned to its ecological niche.  In this discussion, I am going to use eastern white pine, Pinus strobus, as my example because it is native and my favorite conifer.

Conifer cones, also known as strobili, are sophisticated reproductive structures. There are male and female cones, each with a specific role to play.   Male cones are small and

somewhat inconspicuous.  In eastern white pines, they appear as small, yellowish clusters near the base of new shoots.  Within these cones, pollen grains develop which, at the right time, will be released in astonishing quantities as they rely on the wind to carry the pollen to the female cones.  I love to watch the green clouds of pollen billow in the spring – though I do shut the windows.  Interestingly, male cones are usually positioned on the lower branches, a clever strategy that reduces the likelihood of pollen fertilizing cones on the same tree.

Female cones, known as seed cones, are woody, long-lived structures and contain the ovules.  When pollen lands on the female cone and fertilization occurs, the cone hardens and the ovules mature into seeds.  While the male cones wither away after releasing pollen, the female cones persist, maturing over time.

Cones are structural marvels and while they all share a basic design, their size, shape, and scale arrangement can differ dramatically among species.  Each cone consists of scales arranged around a central axis.  The scales are attached to the central stem and can open and close in response to environmental conditions, allowing seeds to be released when the

timing is right.  One of the most remarkable features of cones is the spiral, radial symmetry of these scales.

Pinecone symettry

As the cone grows, each new scale forms at a consistent angle from the previous scale. This regular placement allows the scales to pack efficiently, minimizing overlap while maximizing protection and space for developing ovules and seeds. This arrangement often follows Fibonacci numbers, reflecting nature’s mathematical elegance—a pattern seen also in sunflower heads, pineapples, and leaf arrangements.  (For those of you who were not math majors, the Fibonacci numbers are a sequence where each number is the sum of the two before it. It begins with 0 and 1, and continues 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, and so on.)

Some cones take several years to mature, like our eastern white pine’s cone which takes about two growing seasons—roughly 18 to 24 months.  Pollination occurs in spring of the first year, when the female cones are small, soft, and green. Growth is slow through the first summer/ fall, and fertilization does not occur until months after pollination.  During the second spring/summer, the cones enlarge rapidly as the seeds develop,

Eastern white pine cone, northern white pine, white pine, Weymouth pine (British), soft pine, Poland, Europe

and by late summer/early fall of the second year, the cones mature, dry, and open to release their winged seeds.  You will often see mature and immature cones hanging side by side on the limbs.

Now, anyone who has handled pine cones knows they are often coated in sticky sap, or resin.  This resin serves many purposes.  It helps seal the scales, reducing water loss and protecting immature seeds from environmental stress such as cold, heat, and drying winds.  It also deters insects and seals wounds, preventing fungi and bacteria from infecting developing seeds.  In serotinous pines, such as lodgepole pine, resin holds the cone scales tightly shut until the heat of a fire melts it, releasing seeds onto competition-free soil.  In non-serotinous species, like eastern white pine, cones open without such a dramatic trigger.  The hardened resin also strengthens the cone and makes it less appealing to animals before the seeds are ready—squirrels notwithstanding.

In its drive to establish a new generation, the pine cone supports a complex web of life.   When the cone dries and opens, the seeds are dispersed by wind

Seedling

and animals.  Squirrels and birds play a key role here, collecting and catching both cones and seeds, often seeds.

The seeds feed a wide range of wildlife, from chipmunks and squirrels to deer and even bears.  When the cones fall to the forgetting a few along the way, thus unintentionally planting forest floor, they become part of the organic litter that enriches the soil and supports fungi, insects, and plants.

And finally, somewhere, under the right conditions of light, moisture, and soil, new pine saplings emerge – the future of our forests and the continuation of an ancient lineage.

All of that, contained in an extraordinary cone, one of which rests on my kitchen table.

My gardening “style” is to just let plants do their thing.  It’s part curiosity and part laziness.   Plants have an amazing way of just showing up, thanks to birds and wind and bad mulch, and if it is not an invasive, I let it stay. For the most part this hospitality works out, although there are times I should have shown a settler, like common milkweed, the compost pile early. And so it is that American pokeweed, Phytolacca americana, came to share my garden.

It is interesting how many native plants are painted as poisonous villains – out to get children, pets and livestock. An internet search is dominated by articles on “how to get rid of toxic pokeweed.”  There were a few valiant gardeners coming to its defense though. For the record, pokeweed is native to the Eastern and Central U.S. and has been spreading elsewhere – like California to the west and Europe to the east – where it is invasive and understandably unwelcome.  And yes, all parts—especially roots, seeds, and mature stems/berries—contain toxic compounds.

If you don’t want it in your garden, I understand, but you have to admit … pokeweed is one large, dramatic — almost exotic — plant. If happy, it can reach 10 feet tall but generally grows to about half that. The leaves are alternate, lance-oval shaped, roughly 12 inches long and give off an unpleasant aroma when crushed. The foliage is a bit ho-hum but it is offset by striking magenta stems. In mid-summer there are long clusters of greenish-white to pinkish flowers that attract bees and other pollinators.

The real show comes in the fall when the green berries ripen into cascades of glossy maroon fruit on magenta stalks, hence the name.  “Poke” comes from an Algonquian word meaning a plant used for dye or stain. The genus name Phytolacca means “plant with lacquer/dye”.  The berries are a welcome late-summer food source for over thirty bird species like robins, mourning doves, and catbirds. They devour them with no ill effect – and of course – then distribute the seeds just about everywhere, spreading the joy.  Caught early, the seeding can be pulled easily but once the very thick, white taproot gets down into the soil, good digging and good luck. It will resprout if not fully extracted.  If you decide to do battle, wear gloves out of caution; some folks are sensitive to it.

So why harbor this beast?  Because it tolerates poor soil, heat, some drought (it prefers moisture) and neglect —my kind of plant as I increasingly hide indoors to avoid our new loathsome summer weather.  I am not going to have a garden full of it but I don’t begrudge it a place on the wilder edges.  Granted I don’t have grazing children and cats are notoriously picky eaters.  Oh, did I mention that after fall dieback – it does have nice fall color — it leaves a large skeleton of stems?  If you can’t tolerate the mess, cut the dead stems down to 12 to 24 inches as our native bees like to nest in the hollow stems.

Here is a little piece of Americana for you:  in the South, pokeweed is known as poke sallet (salad) and was a poverty food eaten in the poorer areas of the South. In lean times, a free, abundant, and nutritious green is always welcome but how can this be?  Well, the young spring leaves are boiled and rinsed multiple times to remove the toxins, then slathered with bacon grease.  In fact, it was sold commercially in cans, Allens “Poke Salet Greens”, until 2000.

There was a 1968 song “Polk Salad Annie” which enshrined pokeweed in pop culture (kind-of).  Before my time but the lyrics go like this:

Polk salad Annie
The gators got your granny, chomp, chomp-chomp
Everybody said it was a shame
‘Cause her mama was a-workin’ on a chain gang

Hmm …  If you are really curious, it was sung by Tony Joe White but the version I like the best is this classic Elvis Vegas rendition –  https://youtu.be/2exirC6tp_g

Trust me, you will never look at pokeweed the same way again.

Perhaps it’s just me but there are some common plant names that I just cannot abide.  They are often over the top or cloyingly sweet, like a marketing firm worked overtime to promote them.   Take for example Blazing Star or Gayfeather.  Certainly, the genus name, Liatris, is more dignified than those Susie-Q names.  But natives rarely get the respect they deserve and this native plant had to travel to Europe and back before it gained any fame.  My first encounter with Liatris in the horticulture world was with the cultivar ‘Kobold’, a compact form of Liatris spicata which was cultivated in Germany, hence the name which means “goblin” or “imp.”   It was not until the native plant movement that I began to see other species of Liatris available in nurseries.

Let’s back up to the beginning and meet the family.    Liatris’s is a genus in the Asteraceae family and there are 40 to 50 species, all of which are native to

Liatris flower spike

North America, particularly the United States, Canada, and northern Mexico.  While many species are concentrated in the eastern and central U.S.—such as Liatris spicata, Liatris pycnostachya, and Liatris aspera—others extend into the western and southern regions, adapting to drier, more arid environments.  The Liatris genus is a distinctive part of our native flora, especially in prairie ecosystems, where its tall, spiky blooms provide a crucial nectar source for pollinators like butterflies, bees, and hummingbirds.

The dense, vertical flower spikes, which can reach 1 to 5 feet tall depending on the species or cultivar, are commonly purple to lavender, though some species bloom in white or pink.   The flower heads are actually made up of many tiny, tubular florets.  Liatris blooms in mid to late summer and uniquely, blooms from the top down—unlike most flower spikes, which bloom from the bottom up.     The narrow, grass-like foliage grows in a clump at the base and turns an attractive bronze color in the fall.

The species most common in nurseries is Liatris spicata (Dense Blazing Star).   Native to the eastern U.S., it evolved in moist prairies and meadows and so prefers more moisture than other members of the Liatris family.  It wants full sun as does all the genus.   There are a number of cultivars out there.

Liatris spicata ‘Kobold’ OC

Among the most popular is, of course, ‘Kobold’, known for its compact habit (around 18–24 inches tall), sturdy stems, and rich purple flowers.   There is also a pure white flowered cultivar, ‘Alba’, which also is compact at about 18 inches tall.

Liatris spicata ‘Floristan White’

Other notable cultivars include ‘Floristan Violet’, bred for uniform flowering and commonly used in the cut flower trade, and ‘Floristan White’, which offers crisp white blooms.  The Floristans are on the taller side with 3-foot flower spikes and are known for having an especially long bloom period.

Liatris pycnostachya, Prairie Blazing Star is native to the Central U.S. and is one of the tallest species of Liatris, growing up to five feet tall, and is known for its longer bloom spikes.  It also prefers moist soil and will lose its leaves in dry conditions.   The densely fuzzy flower spikes are a lovely shade of rosy purple.  The cultivar ‘Lavender Glowsticks’ has exceptionally tall flower stalks – making up more than half of the plant’s total height – and long period of bloom.

Liatris pycnostachya ‘Lavendar Glowsticks’

Liatris aspera, Rough Blazing Star, is shorter than other Liatris species (2′ – 3′ tall) and unlike its cousin Liatris spicata, it has widely spaced flower heads which gives it a more open, slightly zigzag and naturalistic look.   This drought tolerant Liatris likes well-drained dry to medium soils and is happy in sandy and rocky situations. Avoid planting it in moist areas, or locations where the soil remains consistently wet during winter.

Liatris aspera

What I like most about Liatris is that the fine, basal foliage allows it to blend well with neighboring plants, adding an assertive linear note to the garden without adding bulk.  The three species I covered grow from a corm (a rounded, swollen underground stem).  Over time, the corm will multiply and form small clusters, gradually expanding the plant’s footprint but not running all over.  However, I have found it will reseed itself quite easily – but who can’t use more plants?   The other word of caution – some of the taller ones can get a bit twisty and floppy depending on light (too little) and nutrients (too much).

Liatris pairs beautifully with many native perennials and grasses.  So, here to close, is ‘Kobold’ again, playing with ‘Cheyenne Spirit’ Coneflower (Echinacea), which will produce a variety of different bloom colors but over time may settle into one predominant color.   Go ahead, add a little spike to your life!

‘Kobold’ and ‘Cheyenne Spirit’ (R.Marsh)

“The plants are the first to know the time. They are the original timekeepers, the ones who know when to bud, when to bloom, when to let go of their seeds, and when to retreat for the winter. They understand the rhythms of the earth in ways that we have forgotten.    … Robin Wall Kimmerer

Emerging from the short days of winter is like emerging from a cocoon.  Many of my friends, even gardening buddies, bemoan the winter months, but not me.

Winter Sun

I enjoy the peace of winter walks with sweeping views of the land – mostly rock where I am – and marvel at the glowing green of the mosses, the fungi decomposing the trees, the tough little Christmas ferns, the poking tips of skunk cabbage.   But most of all, I like the pale light that slants in from the south.   Each day lengthening as we move past the winter solstice and our northern hemisphere turns toward the sun.  It reminds me that light is life, for every being on this earth.

Actually, gardening is quite simple when you think like a plant and remember that it is all about photosynthesis (and sex but that is another article).  Using carbon dioxide from the air, water from the soil, and energy from the sun, plants produce glucose (sugars) and oxygen.  In honor of Lesson’s in Chemistry (a great book by Bonnie Garmus), here is the equation for photosynthesis:  6CO₂ + 6H₂O + light energy → C₆H₁₂O₆ + 6O₂.   For those of you not of the chemistry world, the numbers simply balance the number of molecules because all life is about balance.

The length of daylight governs the world of plants: when to germinate, when to grow, when to flower and set seed, and when to prepare for dormancy.

Sunlight Chart

In a world of artificial light, we humans tend to lose touch with the cycle of light and think in terms of human defined months and seasons, not length of day.    This is the chart that keeps me focused.  It shows the time of sunrise (yellow) and sunset (red), and the hours of daylight (blue).

My gardening season starts with the winter solstice, 9 hours and 14 minutes of daylight, but who’s counting.   It is the turning point and a reminder of the cyclical nature of life.  Most plants are in dormancy, their metabolic activity reduced to allow them to survive the harsh winter conditions.   Robin Wall Kimmerer writes about the “humility of plants” in dormancy—how they embrace the necessity of retreat, embodying patience.    I find myself in dormancy as well, embracing this much-needed period to rest and recharge, gathering the resources for renewal.  It’s my season to reflect, plan, and prepare.  Meanwhile, my overwintering container plants are less optimistic—the ferns are shedding heavily, the bay laurel is battling scale, and the succulents have grown pale and leggy.  I remind them, gently, that spring will come.

By mid-February, as the day lengthens to ten hours, the plants are stirring.  In a pitch-black room of my basement, the amaryllis stretch upward, pale and indignant.  The moon, too, brings its influences.  The February full moon is known as the Snow Moon or the Hunger Moon, names very rooted in the experiences of those who lived off the land.

Snow Moon

Early in my gardening life I never thought about the moon, but my neighbor, Guy Beardsley, a much-revered organic farmer who had many years under his hoe, believed in its power.  Just as the moon influences the tides, it also draws moisture within the soil, while gravity guides the roots downward.  Now I align my planting activities with the cycles of the moon as well.  My seeds are lined up on the potting bench but February is still too early.   The Worm Moon of March tells me when it is time to plant – well, that and The Old Farmer’s Almanac, which has planting dates based on the frost and the moon dates.  Watching seeds sprout and those tender, green cotyledon leaves stretch toward the light never fails to fill me with joy.

When I write again, we will be past the vernal equinox and throwing ourselves full into spring as twelve hours of light bathe the land.   Until then, enjoy your dormancy.  It is a good time to read.

• Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants explores the reciprocal relationships between humans and the natural world through a lens of gratitude, interconnectedness, and care.
• Zoë Schlanger’s The Light Eaters: How the Unseen World of Plant Intelligence Offers a New Understanding of Life on Earth delves into the intelligence of plants.

Beyond the Name: Chokeberry

In the days before marketing, branding and patents, folks named plants for a key characteristic like looks, where it grew, uses or what it did to us and our livestock.  The European settlers got particularly creative when it came to North American natives: dog hobble, dog bane, skunk cabbage, boneset, spiderwort and bladderwort.   Not an asset for a plant trying to promote itself as a charming garden plant.   So it is for poor chokeberry, forever haunted by the astringency of its fruit which, if eaten raw, will indeed make a mouth pucker and possibly bring on a coughing fit.

Chokeberries or Aronia are deciduous shrubs in the rose family (Rosaceae).  Native to eastern North America, there are three species:    Aronia melanocarpa (black chokeberry), A. arbutifolia (red chokeberry) and A. prunifolia (purple chokeberry).  Chokeberry should not be confused with Chokecherry, the common name for our native Prunus virginiana which is a distantly related shrub/small tree.

Aronia is resilient.  It adapts to a variety of soil types and though it prefers moist, well-drained soil, it will tolerate wetter conditions.  Drought-tolerant once established, it still would appreciate some water during dry periods, especially young plants.  Full sun is best for flowering and berry production but it will tolerate partial shade.  Aronia is generally resistant to pests and diseases but can occasionally be bothered by aphids, caterpillars, and fungal diseases.  It is, after all, in the rose family.

In the spring it has clusters of scented white flowers which mature into shiny red or black berries in late summer.  Aronia berries are considered a “super food”:  rich in anthocyanins and a good source of vitamin C, vitamin K, manganese, and other essential nutrients.  They are used in juices, jams, wines, teas, and antioxidant health supplements.  Aronia has even found its way to Central Europe where it is grown as a crop.   Then, as a finale, the glossy dark green leaves turn vibrant shades of red, orange, and purple in the fall, providing stunning autumn color.

Black Chokeberry

Black Chokeberry in Fall

Black chokeberry has become the darling of the plant world.  You know you’ve made it when you are listed in Proven Winners with cute trade names.  First there is ‘Low Scape Mound’, a dwarf

Low Scape Mound

cultivar with a compact, mounded growth habit, ideal for groundcover and borders. It reaches about 1 to 2 feet in height and spreads to 2 to 3 feet wide.  Its patent name is ‘UCONNAM165’ as it came from the breeding program of Dr. Mark Brand at University of Connecticut.

‘Then there is ‘Low Scape Hedger,’ a more upright UCONNAM166’) designed for use as a hedge or

vertical accent.  It grows to about 3 to 5 feet in height with a spread of 2 to 3 feet, perfect for creating a low-maintenance, colorful hedge or screen.

Low Scape Hedger

And, too cute for words is ‘Ground Hug,’ another low-growing cultivar (‘UCONNAM012’) but this one spreads more aggressively, making it an excellent groundcover. It grows about 1 to 1.5 feet in height and spreads 2 to 3 feet wide. This makes it particularly useful for covering large areas, erosion control, and stabilizing slopes.  A new addition to the family is the larger (4 feet high and wide) ‘Low Scape Snowfire®’.  In the spring it is “snowed under with blooms” and in the fall “blazes red and orange.”  Got to love those marketing folks.

Larger still is ‘Viking’, a cultivar selected for its vigorous growth, heavy fruit yield, and sweeter berries. This Aronia reaches about 3 to 6 feet tall and is the perfect choice for those looking for a crop in addition to a pretty plant.

Viking

Red Chokeberry

‘Brilliantissima’ is one of the most celebrated cultivars of Red Chokeberry, prized for its outstanding ornamental qualities and considered a great improvement over the straight species.  It has a dense, rounded growth habit and at 6 to 8 feet in high and wide, works in many garden settings including borders, hedges, and standalone. The combination of scarlet foliage and red berries makes it a standout in the autumn.  The berries are also less astringent than those of Black Chokeberry if you are bold enough to eat them raw.  Birds like blue jays, cardinals, chickadees, cedar waxwings and thrashers view chokeberries as a late-season food source, so the berries will hang around for a bit.  (Lesson learned, watch what the birds eat.)

Purple Chokeberry

And lastly there is Purple Chokeberry which is considered a naturally occurring hybrid between black and red chokeberry.  It grows 6 to 8 feet tall and has characteristics of both parents but with dark purple berries.  It is used less in landscapes but you may find it hanging out in moist woodlands, wetlands, and meadows.

So, yes, you can have it all:  flowers for pollinators, fall drama to your landscape, berries for song birds and little critters, and a superfood for you.  Chokeberries rule – don’t let the name fool you.

There are many things I fear in life; other drivers on the Merritt Parkway and for that matter, most members of the human species. Insects, not so much. Unlike humans, they do things for a reason and are very predictable. Keeping honey bees taught me that knowledge and a healthy respect eliminates misunderstandings. For example, don’t dress like a bear, don’t breathe on them and don’t wear shorts (bees like to climb upward). This sense of goodwill extends to all bees and their kin, the wasps, which also belong to the order Hymenoptera, but with some key differences.

First, wasps are predominantly carnivorous, feeding on other insects, spiders, and in some cases, carrion (like your ham sandwich). These little predators help keep insect populations in check, encouraging a diverse ecosystem in the garden. Some species also play a role in pollination as they visit flowers in search of nectar, though they are not as efficient as bees.

Like bees, there are both solitary and social species. Social wasps live in colonies with a queen and workers. They will defend their nests vigorously if they feel threatened. Solitary wasps, on the other hand, live and hunt alone. They don’t have a colony to defend, so they are generally much less aggressive than social wasps. However, solitary wasps will sting if they feel threatened or if they are provoked.  And a final thing to keep in mind is that, unlike honey bees, most wasp species can sting repeatedly without dying, as their stingers are not barbed and can be withdrawn easily.  Other than that, to know them is to love them.

There are hundreds of species in Connecticut so I will just touch on the major groups. Let’s start with the social wasps. If you learn to identify any wasp, the bald-faced

Bald Faced Hornet

hornet is the one to know. Disturbing a bald-faced hornet’s nest is a really bad idea. They will hunt you down and kill you. Just kidding but seriously, I learned from my bees that you need to stay calm and steady. Arm waving and swatting on your part will only agitate them more and lead to unnecessary stings.

Hornet Nest

Luckily, bald-faced hornets usually have their nests up in trees and away from us (though I have seen nests in shrubs and other places so be watchful).

Of course then there is everyone’s favorite, the yellow jackets. There are actually four species found in Connecticut: Common, German, Eastern and Aerial. They like to build nests underground, which are delightful to find with the lawn mower, but they also have a predilection for aboveground cavities. Aerial yellowjackets build nests in trees very similar to the bald-faced hornets. Both bald-faced hornets and yellow jackets forage for nectar and soft-bodied insects, but yellow jackets can be more opportunistic, especially toward your late summer picnic when the nectar resources are waning.

By comparison, the European paper wasps are the least aggressive of the bunch but unfortunately, they look a lot like yellow jackets which doesn’t win

Hornet ID

them friends. They build papery nests from chewed wood fibers and you will find them hanging from eaves, branches, or other sheltered locations. None of the social wasps reuse their nests; only the queens survive after the first fall frosts. So, let them do their thing if you can, they will be gone soon enough.

The more amiable members of the wasp clan are the solitary wasps:  the daubers, diggers, and parasitoids. The female mud dauber

Common Blue Mud Dauber

constructs a mud nest in sheltered locations as well. Some nests are long tubes; others are more rounded. She fills each tube with prey she captures and paralyzes (often spiders) and lays an egg inside. The immature wasp hatches from the egg, feeds on the prey and later emerges as an adult.

Great Golden Digger Wasp

The female digger wasp is very similar. She digs a burrow in soil, then hunts down insects like caterpillars, grasshoppers, and beetles, which she paralyzes and stuffs into the burrow. When the burrow is full, she lays an egg, covers it up and starts digging a new burrow. Often you will see several wasps digging in one area but they are just attracted to the same favorable spot and aren’t really social.

Parasitic wasps are a diverse group that lay their eggs inside or on the bodies of other insects or arthropods, which serve as hosts for their developing larvae.

Braconid Wasp

(Yep, just like “Aliens”).  There are thousands of species, each with its own host preferences and behaviors.  Some common species in Connecticut are braconid wasps and ichneumon wasps.  Most of us don’t know anything about them because most are no larger than a gnat.

Ichneumon Wasp

What they lack in size they make up in sheer numbers and efficiency, and as a group they may be the single most important biological control in the garden.    Their targets include insects like caterpillars, beetles, flies, and even aphids. The adults live on nectar and pollen and you might catch a glimpse of them on flowers.   And since they don’t parasitize people, you can be good friends with them.  (Those long ovipositors are for laying eggs, not stinging).

Tomato Worm Parasitized by Braconid

So, despite their reputation as aggressive pests, wasps aren’t all bad. Understanding and respecting their boundaries can foster a harmonious coexistence.

I have always been fascinated by plant propagation, especially grafting.  In essence, grafting is the botanical version of mixing and matching that involves combining the upper part of one plant (the scion) with the lower part of another (the rootstock).  It is a horticultural feat that goes back to around 3000 BCE when Chinese horticulturists started grafting fruit trees and went on from there.

So why graft two plants together? Well because we want the best of all worlds and the rootstock and the scion each bring different desirable attributes. Rootstocks control hardiness and soil tolerance, disease resistance and fast growth.  Scions bring qualities like exceptional fruit or beautiful flowers or interesting foliage.  Many, or I dare say most, fruit and citrus trees, grapevines, roses, weeping and ornamentals trees and conifers are grafted.

There is one caveat on all this plant mashup:  grafting works best with closely related plants within the same genus.  The similar genetic makeup makes them more compatible, resulting in a more robust and viable grafted plant.  Oh, to be sure there are some inter-genus dalliances but those are rare.  It’s easy to spot grafts

Grafted Japanese Maple

if you know what to look for. Grafting scars are distinctive marks where the rootstock and scion were joined and they take years to heal and rarely disappear entirely.  It can be a small seam or bulge on the main stem; the exact location of the scar depends on the grafting technique used.  For some plants, like fruit trees and roses, the graft union may be buried below the soil level.  The decision to bury the graft union depends on factors such as the type of plant and environmental conditions but just be aware of it.

Weeping trees are commonly grafted to create that distinctive form and get them up off the ground.  Take for example a weeping cherry.   A vigorous and hardy rootstock sapling is cut several feet above the ground, and scion

Weeping Hemlock

from a cherry with cascading branches and eye-catching spring blooms is grafted at the top of the cut-off trunk.  And voila!   This is done for deciduous trees as well as conifers like weeping hemlock (Tsuga canadensis ‘Pendula’).

Japanese maples boast a wide array of grafted cultivars, each prized for their unique features.    There are the weeping Japanese maples such as ‘Crimson Queen’ and ‘Dissectum Atropurpureum,’ with their finely dissected foliage and cascading form.  Some are upright like ‘Bloodgood,’ known for its stunning foliage and ‘Sango Kaku,’ or Coral Bark Maple, renowned for its striking coral-red branches.  There are Japanese maples which are naturally vigorous and grown from seed.  These are referred to as “own-root” or “seedling-grown” maples and if someone is selling seedlings out of their yard, that is what they are.   My garden has a number of these as well as root stock plants I saved from the dumpster.  No breeding but I like them just the same.

It all sounds wonderful right?  Well, sometimes there is trouble in this horticultural paradise.  Grafts can fail and lead to trouble.  Interestingly, the impetus for this article was just that, a lumpy graft on a weeping elm

Weeping Elm Graft

(Ulmi glabra ‘Camperdownii’) in a friend’s garden.   When a graft fails to establish properly it leads to the formation of a bulge or callus. The bulge is a result of the plant’s effort to heal and compartmentalize the damaged

Japanese Maple Graft

area.  There is nothing to be done and, as one would suspect, this is a weak point for the tree but not a death sentence.

The other common problem I see, and I see it often, is rampant growth from the rootstock.  Graft failure often blocks the pipeline for water and food moving up the trunk and that leads to suckering as the energy of the rootstock seeks an outlet.  Here is a Ruby Falls Weeping Redbud (Cercis canadensis ‘Ruby Falls’) that is being tortured in a restaurant parking lot – this is an understory tree for crying out loud!   Anyway, the obvious problem is that those large straight limbs are

Weeping Cherry

growing out of the rootstock.  Then there is this rather interesting looking “weeping” cherry.

In this case the rule is simple:  any sprouts or branches that appear below the graft scar should be cut off immediately.   If not, the rootstock will overpower the scion and well, that’s just not nice.   Cut the unwanted limbs back to the trunk, using proper pruning technique of course, and keep an eye out because more will grow when you turn your back.

If this all fascinates you, I highly recommend you try grafting.   I tried to graft tomato seedlings once – oh yes, that is a thing – with zero success but

Ruby Falls Weeping Redbud

still harbor dreams of being a grafting queen.   The book to read is “The Manual of Plant Grafting: Practical techniques for ornamentals, vegetables, and fruit” by Peter T. MacDonald which covers various grafting techniques and has good pictures.  Even if you never end up doing it (kind of like reading cookbooks but never cooking), it will give you an appreciation for the science, and art, of grafting.

I have this irritating (to my mate) habit of going over to make the acquaintance of any member of the plant kingdom I do not know.  I am endlessly fascinated by new plants and will dive down the online rabbit hole for hours until I know the plant’s entire life history.  So it was this summer with me and Catalpa.   In a landscape of maple and oak, Catalpa looks practically tropical with its giant heart-shaped leaves, orchid-like flowers, and dangling seed pods.  When I saw one at Harkness Memorial Park standing majestically in the lawn, I wanted to know more.  What I found is that Catalpa requires one to consider a more nuanced understanding of “native” and begs the question, native to where?  So, to Catalpa or not to Catalpa?  That is the question and here is the story.

Catalpa is a member of the Trumpet-creeper family, Bignoniaceae, and native to warm temperate and subtropical regions of North America, the Caribbean, and East Asia.  In our world that means Tennessee, Arkansas, Missouri as well as southern Indiana and Illinois.  It has many colorful common names including cigar tree, Indian bean tree, catawba, and caterpillar tree.   There are two North American species, southern catalpa (C. bignonioides) and northern catalpa (C. speciosa).  They are very similar in appearance, but the northern species has slightly larger leaves, flowers, and bean pods and is a zone hardier than southern catalpa.

Northern catalpa is hardy to Zones 4–8 and grows to 40–60 ft. tall, with branches spreading to a 20–40 ft. oval shape.  It has a fast growth rate, 13 to 24 inches per year, and a sapling can reach 20 ft. tall in ten years.  It is very adaptable, handling full sun or partial shade, a wide range of soil types, and moisture conditions from occasional flooding to extremely hot and dry.  The wood, though soft and brittle, is resistant to rot and was used for fence posts and railroad ties.

It is easy to spot with leaves that are up to 12″ long and 4–8″ wide.  It is sometimes confused with princess tree, Paulownia tomentosa, a non-native invasive tree from China that has a similar large leaf.   Around late June, clusters of large, showy, trumpet-shaped, flowers cover the tree.  It is quite a show in an exotic way.   In late summer or autumn the fruit appear.  Starting out green then turning brown, the bean-like seed pods are about 8–20 inches long and full of small flat seeds, each with two thin wings to aid in wind dispersal. This explains the tree’s name which derives from the Muscogee name for the tree, “kutuhlpa” meaning   “winged head”.

The flowers of the catalpa are favored by pollinators like hummingbirds and bees.  Most importantly, the leaves are the sole food source of the caterpillars of the catalpa sphinx moth, Ceratomia catalpae.  The moth is a bit nondescript but one can’t miss a fat, juicy two-inch caterpillar.  In a boom year, the caterpillars can completely defoliate a tree but the Catalpa seems to take it in stride and produces new leaves readily.  The caterpillar does have one major predator: fishermen.  Apparently the caterpillars make an excellent live bait and in some southern states, anglers plant Catalpa just to have a source of “catawba-worms”.  The caterpillars can even be preserved by placing them in cornmeal in an airtight container and then freezing them.  When thawed, they will become active again.  Pretty neat trick.

Alas, this striking tree is not one to welcome into our gardens.  The University of Connecticut Plant database warns that it “has demonstrated an invasive tendency in Connecticut, meaning it may escape from cultivation and naturalize in minimally managed areas.”  “Native” is no longer a free pass and the term should have a geographic qualifier, like native to New England or even native to a specific ecoregion.  Even if you get past that issue, there are the other less-than-stellar traits, like wide-ranging, invasive roots and a messy nature.  Catalpa likes to rain down soggy flowers, pointy seed pods, large leaves and finally twigs, branches and limbs.  Some folks find this annoying.

In the end I was sad that there would be no friendship with this tree but I will still give a nod of recognition next time I pass one.

P.S.  If you want to debate this at cocktail parties, use Doug Tallamy’s definition of a native as a guide:  “a plant or animal that has evolved in a given place over a period of time sufficient to develop complex and essential relationships with the physical environment and other organisms in a given ecological community.”  Good luck!

There is a Rose of Sharon (Hibiscus syriacus) in my garden that was planted before my time.  It is not a shrub I like because, in addition to reseeding itself prodigiously, it is favored by the dreaded Japanese beetles.   After mating in the flowers, the pesky beetle couples head right over to my vegetable garden for their nuptial feast of green bean foliage.  Grrr….  I am tolerant of most insects but give no quarter to non-native ones.  Having recently conceded defeat to the red lily beetles by digging out all my Asiatic and Oriental lilies, I am not about to surrender to the Japanese beetle.

I believe that one should know one’s enemy so I have studied their lifecycle and am presently girding my loins for battle.   As you read this, the little suckers are emerging to eat, mate, and lay eggs.

Japanese Beetle Lifecycle

Actually Japanese beetles are just one of a number of non-native pesky beetles including Asiatic, Oriental and European chafer beetles.   Here are their mugshots.   They all have very similar lifecycles though Asiatic beetles are the sneakiest, hiding during the day and feeding on foliage at night.  Unlike Japanese beetles which tend to skeletonize leaves, Asiatic beetles notch the edge of the foliage so keep an eye out for that damage with no apparent culprit around.

As bad as the adults are, the larvae can be worse.  The developing grubs spend a year underground feeding on

Asiatic Beetle

organic matter and roots.  If you are a person who likes a pristine lawn, you get twice the fun.  Not only will a large community of grubs create great swaths of dead grass; the moles, skunks and raccoons will aerate your lawn in search of a grub snack.

So what is an organic, tree-hugging gardener to do?   Well, kill them of course!   The only question is when and how.

Plan A.   The Ten Fingers of Death

Trying to spray the beetles with pesticides is a non-starter as the most effective

insecticides are very toxic to insects I like.  So, my summer mornings are spent handpicking the suckers off my plants and plopping them into soapy

Oriental Beetle

water (they don’t swim as long as the jumping worms).  It is easier to handpick beetles in the morning when they are not quite as quick.  If you suspect Asiatic beetles, sit outside at night with a light on, sip a glass of wine and wait till they come to the light.  This, as you might suspect, is not real effective but you will feel relaxed and the mosquitos will be happy.

What about those traps you ask?   Well there are two types of traps you can buy.   One uses a bait that mimics the smell of virgin female beetles and of course attracts male beetles.  The other bait has a yummy food smell and attracts both sexes. These traps will bring in hordes of horny and hungry beetles and kill a good number of them.  Unfortunately, the ones that escape death will happily mate and increase the population in your

European Chafer Beetle

garden.   Sigh, this is the law of unintended consequences known as perverse results.

Plan B.  The Mercenaries

The adult females you did not get in Plan A have now laid their eggs in the soil.  Once the eggs develop into larvae, the wretched little pests will head toward the surface of the soil and start feeding.  Time to bring in the enemies of our enemy which are bacteria and nematodes.

In the past, milky spore bacteria was the only game in town but it is not considered that effective in Connecticut and only kills the Japanese beetle grubs.   The new darling bacteria is Bacillus thuringiensis galleriae (Btg), a strain that produces a toxin that affects both adults and larvae.   When consumed the bacterium disrupts the gut lining causing the pests to stop feeding and gradually die.   Sorry but yeah!   The most advanced products in this space are grubGONE! and beetleGONE! from Phyllom BioProducts.

Japanese Beetle Grub

Some earlier Bt products are only effective against 1st instar grubs (the grub immediately after hatching) but grubGONE! is also effective against the larger 2nd and 3rd instar (more mature grubs) which appear later in the season.    So grubGONE! can be used as an early season curative or a late season preventative.    Once the soil cools, the grubs move deeper into the soil and go dormant.

beetleGONE! is sprayed on the foliage that the beetles are eating and can also be mixed into the soil to control grubs.  It is compliant with organic growing standards and in fact, treated vegetables, fruits and herbs can be eaten the day of application (nothing will happen to your gut).  The chart below gives you an idea of timing.

Our friends the nematodes (the species you want is Heterorhabditis bacteriophora) are microscopic, soil dwelling worms that will bore into the grubs, release a bacterium and kill them within 48 hours.   Isn’t the natural world just so clever and deadly?    Nematodes are usually purchased online and as they are living organisms, care in their handling and storage is critical.  They must be applied in heavily overcast or rainy conditions as they are not too keen on sunlight and need moisture in the soil to travel.  They need to be applied around mid- to late-August so if we have a drought like last year, pre-irrigating with at least a half an inch of water is a must.  One online source for nematodes is North Country Organics.

Biological controls require patience as it may take more time to terminate your enemies.  If you want them to drop dead quicker, you will find many grub control products containing pesticides. The active ingredient in Scott’s GrubEx is Chlorantraniliprole (0.08%) and should be applied in the early spring.  The active ingredient in Bayer Grub Killer Plus is Trichlorfon (9.30%) and should be applied in the summer or early fall.

I am staying organic with beetleGONE! and will see how it goes.  If it doesn’t help, well, I never liked that Rose of Sharon anyway.

Renee Marsh, FGCCT Horticulture Chair

The April/May issue is always a challenging one to write for.  Let’s face it – we are all out in our gardens getting our spring fix.  Intoxicated with flowers and green leaves, why read this article?   Unless it is raining maybe?   Anyway, I am glad you are and thank you.  Now, as to the topic.  Since I cannot compete with the glories of spring, I decided to talk tools, specifically pruning tools.  I attended this year’s Flower & Garden Show in Hartford and love to see what tools folks are selling.  Some are useful, some are silly, and some are downright stupid.  There was one vendor demonstrating how to cut through a sizeable limb with a ratcheting lopper.   In my experience, ratcheting devices are heavy and require the upper body strength of a sizeable gorilla.   Try holding that up to a tree or shrub and ratcheting the multiple times needed to get through a large branch.  Hah!

So, I have decided to share my humble opinion on the subject.  It is based on my tools rules which are the following:

1. Use the right tool for the right job.
2. Buy high quality tools with replaceable parts.
3. Buy tools that fit your hands. (Pink is not a size, it is a marketing ploy.)
4. Don’t buy that many tools. More tools means more maintenance (see next rule).
5. Maintain your tools – yes, really – clean, oil, sharpen, repeat.
6. Be honest about what you can handle as you age. Face it, most of us can’t even open a jar anymore.

I have buckets of tools that I bought in big-box stores (who will remain nameless because Home Depot, Costco and Walmart won’t like it).  When I started really working in horticulture as an 8 hours a day job, I learned quickly how awful – and painful – they were.   So, here is my lineup of tried and true pruning tools based on my years as a manual laborer.

Pruners (or secateurs for those of you who think the British still rule) 

There are three types:  bypass, anvil and ratchet.  Anvil pruners have one blade that cuts like a knife, with the blade pushing through a stem onto a lower block – think a knife on a chopping board.   This tends to crush live stems so it is recommended for dead limbs only.   Don’t bother unless you are Morticia Addams and prune mostly dead things.   Ratchet pruners have either anvil or bypass blades and feature ratchet springs and mechanisms to “ease effort” and cut through a stem in a series of stages. You have to repeatedly squeeze and release the handles to cut the branch.   While they are sold as useful for gardeners who lack strength, believe me, the constant squeezing will kill your hands in no time.

Bypass pruners have two blades, with a sharpened blade crossing over a thicker metal platform just like a pair of scissors.  They give a clean cut which minimizes damage to the plant.   They should be sharp as razors which means sharpening them constantly if you are doing a lot of pruning.   If you get anything out of this article, remember this … they come in different sizes to fit your hand.  Gorilla size pruners (I hope that is politically ok) lead to tired hands, aching forearms and carpel tunnel syndrome.    My recommendations:

• Okatsune: You have to give it to the Japanese for forging quality tempered steel that is razor sharp and incredibly durable.   Think of this as your own little Samurai sword.  The design is incredibly simple with a V-shaped spring that distributes the load over the blade (and does not pop out) and a locking system that is easy to release and close.  The result is a really weightless pruner.  It comes with a cute little holster that you might seriously consider.  They will punch a hole right through the bottom of a rubber garden trug if you aren’t careful!    They come in three sizes; I use a 101.  There is a link at the end of the article to a website that shows the sizes.   This is for stems up to roughly ½ inch.   Will they cut larger?  Yes but don’t do it.

Felco:  This is my second favorite and comes in many sizes as well; I use a Felco 6.    Felco products are what one expects of the Swiss – quality and long term reliability.  All parts are easily replaced so their products will last a lifetime.  I find that the blades don’t hold an edge as well as my Okatsune though.  Felco has many permutations of pruners for various types of pruning but really, just get the basic one.

Loppers

This is the tool you use when the job is too large for a pruner.   My favorite is the Felco 200C-60 lopper.   The number one reason is the carbon fiber handles that make them lightweight (1 lb. 9 oz. to be exact), and a joy to use.    Shock absorbers soften the impact on the wrist and hands. The curved cutting head reduces the effort needed for cutting.  They will cut branches up to 1.4 inches diameter at which point I go to my next tool.

Pruning Saw

This little folding saw, the Felco F-600, will cut branches up to about two inches.   This is a pull-stroke pruning saw which means it cuts on the pull stroke, not the push stroke. You start the cut with the back end of the blade.  It gives clean, precise cuts with little effort and folds up to fit in your pocket.

Reciprocating Saw

There was a time I was a real purist and eschewed power tools.  Then I got older, wiser, and weaker.   Enter the handheld, battery operated reciprocating saw.  Mine is a Milwaukee M12 Hackzall complete with the additional batteries and charger – and just the cutest little red carrying bag.  One good reason to get the extra battery packs is that they are smaller and lighter for those little jobs.   You can get pruning blades of various lengths at any of the usual hardware places.   By the way this works really well for cutting roots too – which is a bit rough on the blades so use older ones.    Eat your heart out tool guys.

Shrub (Hedge) Shears

My Okatsune 217 shears are categorized as short handled with medium-long blades.   They are razor-sharp and very lightweight with ash handles that absorb vibrations.  At 22 inches long, they are perfect for light hedge clipping yet tough enough to prune small branches.    There are longer-handled ones and longer bladed-ones but keeping with Rule # 4, this can cover all the bases just fine.

The Art of Creative Pruning

And finally, maintenance.   There are lots of tools for sharpening blades like files and whetstones but my hands-down favorite is the iSTOR Professional Swiss sharpener.  Watch the videos online and it is a breeze.

So there you go, time to prune your little hearts out!   If you are as obsessed with pruning as I am, check out Jake Hobson’s book “The Art of Creative Pruning”.

Of course, there are other experiences and opinions out there so if there are tools you love, let me know at hortchair@ctgardenclubs.org.  I am always willing to try something new and to share your feedback.

 Resources:

https://okatsune.co.uk/

https://www.okatsune-europe.com/en/pruners-bypass/pruners-okatsune-101-for-small-hands.htm

https://felco.com/en_us/     **Check out the article on counterfeits on Amazon on the homepage**

 From a Reader, the View From YOUR Garden: 

Martha Doshan writes “On one of my walks I picked up a strange growth, on a small branch, and wondered what it was. After reading your article, I figured out that I had an old horned oak gall. I ‘ve attached a picture.”

Renee Marsh, FGCCT Horticulture Chair

Deciding what to write can be a torturous task. As you may have noticed, I like to explore the often overlooked parts of the garden world. This time however, I decided to be conventional (yawn) and chose the most obvious plant for December, holly.

Sounded like it would be easy but nope, I soon found that Ilex is a very large genus. Even narrowing it down to the major ornamental species that thrive in Connecticut, left way too many plants. There are natives species: Inkberry (I. glabra), American holly (I. opaca), and winterberry (I. verticillata). Then there are the non-native species: Japanese holly (I. crenata) and the myriad hybrids. Ironically, the species that epitomizes Christmas, English holly (I. aquifolium) with its deep green, vicious spiny leaves and red berries, is marginally hardy to zone 6b. Not relevant for those of us up in the hills.

To keep this article from being unbearably long — we all have holiday shopping to do — I decided to focus on the non-natives species. Yes, yes, I know this will offend the nativists but, as we are steeped in the European holiday tradition, it’s only fair. No one ever sang “deck the halls with boughs of winterberry”. And as it all traces back to the Druids who believed that holly offered protection against evil spirits, evergreen holly with red berries it is.

Big animal picture … these evergreen hollies prefer sun with some moderate shade tolerance, prefer acidic soil, don’t like it too cold or too hot but in general, they aren’t overly fussy. One notable characteristic of holly is that it is a dioecious plant which means the male and female reproductive parts are on separate plants. The flowers are white and not of much interest unless you are a bee, in which case you are happy to gather the pollen of the male flowers. Any male plant can pollinate any female plant IF the flowering time overlaps. Most holly plants are paired (boy & girl) to ensure that happens. If it does, the resulting fruit is botanically speaking a drupe – not a berry – but I will just call them berries.

The freewheeling exchange of pollen is why there are many hybrid hollies which are crosses of different species. It is these hollies we will explore here starting with the Blue or Meserve hollies. Here is a great story of a woman in horticulture. Kathleen Meserve, an enthusiastic 20th century amateur gardener on Long Island, wanted to create cold hardy hollies with red berries. She crossed a Japanese species (Ilex rugosa) with the English holly and created a hybrid called Ilex x meserveae which is hardy to Zone 4. The foliage of this hybrid is so dark green it looks bluish, thus the name, Blue Hollies. There is ‘Blue Prince’, ‘Blue Boy’, ‘Blue Stallion’, ‘Blue Princess’ and ‘Blue Maid.’ You need one male for every four to five females to get a bumper crop of red berries. Cultivars vary in size but, by and large, they are sizeable shrubs growing to 5 – 12 ft. tall and 6 ft. or more across. They can be used as a foundation plant if you don’t mind pruning. Luckily they take to pruning very well and also make awesome hedges (take that, boring Arborvitae).

Ms. Meserve continued her matchmaking and crossed Chinese holly (I. cornuta) and English holly producing ‘China Boy’ and ‘China Girl’ (Ilex x meserveae ‘Mesdob’ & ‘Mesog’). They have a rounded, dense form growing to 7-10 ft. tall by 5-8 ft. wide. They too are hardy to Zone 4.

Then a German nursery man, Hans Hachmann, crossed ‘Blue Prince’ and English holly. The resulting blue hollies were trademarked with “Castle” names. They are smallish for hollies, hardy to zone 5 and best of all, way less spiky with softer deep green foliage. ‘Castle Spire’ (I. x meserveae ‘Hachfee’) has bright red berries, dark glossy foliage and a narrow, pyramidal form reaching 8 – 12 ft. tall and 3 – 4 ft. wide. The male, ‘Castle Wall’ (I. x meserveae ‘Heckenstar’) is a bit shorter at 5 – 8 ft. tall. An even shorter guy is ‘Castle Keep’ at 3 – 5 ft. tall and wide; he has a rounded habit that needs no pruning to keep it shape.

Then there is my favorite, ‘Dragon Lady’ (Ilex x aquipernyi ‘Meschick’), a cross between English and Perny holly (I. pernyi). She is a looker with a narrow pyramidal form, 20 ft., tall but only 4 – 5 ft. wide. She has the deeply spiked, glossy leaves and bright red fruits of her English parent in a hardier, leaner package. Also on the smaller side is ‘Red Beauty’ holly (I. ‘Rutzan’) who hails from Rutgers University and is a cross of Blue and Perny holly. She is the same width as ‘Dragon Lady’ but half the height at 7 – 10 ft. tall.

Lastly, the grand dame of the hybrids is ‘Nellie R. Stevens,’ a cross of English and Chinese holly. She is monumental and will quickly reach a mature height of 15 – 25 ft. and width of 8 – 15 ft. She tolerates drought, air pollution, and heat but is only cold hardy to Zone 6. She will produce large, bright orange-red berries without a male pollinizer but a male Chinese Holly will increase the berry set.

Beyond being decorative, hollies provide protection for nesting birds and the flowers, though small, are loved by pollinators. In Celtic mythology the revered holly tree is considered the evergreen twin of the oak. The oak is the controller of the light half of the year and the holly controls the dark, winter months. Happy winter solstice!

By Renee Marsh, Horticulture Chair, Federated Garden Clubs of CT