The happy accident

In the pilot for A Gardener's Diary, which aired on Home & Garden Television for 11 years, Ruth Mitchell, the gardener we visited, was talking about a mass of verbena that had clambered over a stump and was mingled with some low-growing roses.  It was a lovely combination, and when Erica Glasener, the host of the show, asked Ruth how she came up with the idea, Ruth answered with a laugh, "It was a happy accident."

I can't tell you how many times throughout the years we produced the series, gardeners would say, "It was a happy accident."  Sometimes, Erica would use the line to comment on a scene in a garden when there was an unplanned combination.  Of course, the editors and Kathryn (the executive producer) and I would jokingly apply the phrase to all kinds of situations, so a happy accident of some sort was always happening.

The picture you see above was a happy accident, for real.  An elderly couple who had been gardening for years asked me to come and identify the tree and vine that were blooming behind one of their huge rhododendrons.  I was so relieved that I recognized the plants.

The semi-evergreen vine, Bignonia capreolata, is native to the eastern part of the U.S.  If you drive up I-75 in Tennessee in May, you'll see tons of it climbing over trees and rocks in the median.  The species is reddish brown on the outside with a yellowish center.  The flowers in Tennessee appear mostly brownish yellow, if my memory serves me correct.  At the Atlanta Botanical Garden, the reddish-orange selection 'Tangerine Beauty' covers one of the arbors along the walk leading to the conservatory.  It makes a fabulous display in spring.  Another way I saw the vine used was in a back yard with a tall canopy of trees.  The gardener had installed chains that connected the trees and had strung 'Tangerine Beauty' all along the chains.  It was great looking, with those red trumpets hanging in a scalloped pattern above the ferns and stone paths below.

The white fringe tree is also a native.  Chionanthus virginicus is known around these parts as Grancy Gray-beard.  It's very showy when it's covered with big, fleecy blooms in May.  Although it's native to the eastern U.S. from New Jersey to Florida, it will also grow in parts of New England.

Even though both of these plants are native to the southeastern U.S., they will grow in a lot of places around the country.  You would want to seek out 'Tangerine Beauty', as it flowers more heavily than the species, and the color is more predictable.  It's hardy from Zones 6 to 9.  The American fringe tree grows in Zones 3-9.  This means a lot of us could enjoy this happy accident.

The happy accident

In the pilot for A Gardener's Diary, which aired on Home & Garden Television for 11 years, Ruth Mitchell, the gardener we visited, was talking about a mass of verbena that had clambered over a stump and was mingled with some low-growing roses.  It was a lovely combination, and when Erica Glasener, the host of the show, asked Ruth how she came up with the idea, Ruth answered with a laugh, "It was a happy accident."

I can't tell you how many times throughout the years we produced the series, gardeners would say, "It was a happy accident."  Sometimes, Erica would use the line to comment on a scene in a garden when there was an unplanned combination.  Of course, the editors and Kathryn (the executive producer) and I would jokingly apply the phrase to all kinds of situations, so a happy accident of some sort was always happening.

The picture you see above was a happy accident, for real.  An elderly couple who had been gardening for years asked me to come and identify the tree and vine that were blooming behind one of their huge rhododendrons.  I was so relieved that I recognized the plants.

The semi-evergreen vine, Bignonia capreolata, is native to the eastern part of the U.S.  If you drive up I-75 in Tennessee in May, you'll see tons of it climbing over trees and rocks in the median.  The species is reddish brown on the outside with a yellowish center.  The flowers in Tennessee appear mostly brownish yellow, if my memory serves me correct.  At the Atlanta Botanical Garden, the reddish-orange selection 'Tangerine Beauty' covers one of the arbors along the walk leading to the conservatory.  It makes a fabulous display in spring.  Another way I saw the vine used was in a back yard with a tall canopy of trees.  The gardener had installed chains that connected the trees and had strung 'Tangerine Beauty' all along the chains.  It was great looking, with those red trumpets hanging in a scalloped pattern above the ferns and stone paths below.

The white fringe tree is also a native.  Chionanthus virginicus is known around these parts as Grancy Gray-beard.  It's very showy when it's covered with big, fleecy blooms in May.  Although it's native to the eastern U.S. from New Jersey to Florida, it will also grow in parts of New England.

Even though both of these plants are native to the southeastern U.S., they will grow in a lot of places around the country.  You would want to seek out 'Tangerine Beauty', as it flowers more heavily than the species, and the color is more predictable.  It's hardy from Zones 6 to 9.  The American fringe tree grows in Zones 3-9.  This means a lot of us could enjoy this happy accident.

A path deconstructed

Ever since I took a picture of this path in Rhoda Ingram's garden outside Griffin, Georgia, I've tried to deconstruct the elements that make it so appealing to me.  At first view, it seems a very simple composition - a curving gravel path lined with some sort of cement block pavers with various plantings along the way.

But, I think it's the blending of formal and informal elements that makes it so pleasing.  For instance, remove the more formal clipped boxwoods, and the scene loses some of its personality.  Then, imagine if the path were straight instead of winding in a gentle curve.  Taking away this informal outline would certainly make the path less appealing.  I love the fact that some of the ground covers spill out into the walkway and how the tall, columnar form of what appears to be an Italian cypress (in the background on the right) adds an important line to the overall composition.  

When I came back from taking this picture, I tried to figure out where I could make a similar path.  Unfortunately, I have very few flat places on my property.  Still, I can see ideas I could borrow to create something comparable in feeling.  I'm going to keep studying this photograph, and I think I'll eventually figure out what to do.

A path deconstructed

Ever since I took a picture of this path in Rhoda Ingram's garden outside Griffin, Georgia, I've tried to deconstruct the elements that make it so appealing to me.  At first view, it seems a very simple composition - a curving gravel path lined with some sort of cement block pavers with various plantings along the way.

But, I think it's the blending of formal and informal elements that makes it so pleasing.  For instance, remove the more formal clipped boxwoods, and the scene loses some of its personality.  Then, imagine if the path were straight instead of winding in a gentle curve.  Taking away this informal outline would certainly make the path less appealing.  I love the fact that some of the ground covers spill out into the walkway and how the tall, columnar form of what appears to be an Italian cypress (in the background on the right) adds an important line to the overall composition.  

When I came back from taking this picture, I tried to figure out where I could make a similar path.  Unfortunately, I have very few flat places on my property.  Still, I can see ideas I could borrow to create something comparable in feeling.  I'm going to keep studying this photograph, and I think I'll eventually figure out what to do.

William Bartram's bright red discovery

In my treasured copy of the 1996 issue of Garden Design magazine is a section featuring some of the great writing of American botanist William Bartram (1739-1823).  I don't know how many times I've read these pages where Bartram, a native of Philadelphia whose father John Bartram was the chief botanist of the American colonies, writes about his travels in the southeastern United States.

It literally makes my hair stand on end to read his accounts of coiled up rattlesnakes, alligators and water moccasins, all of which he came in close contact with as he was exploring the swamps of Florida and Georgia.  It was on a trip to Georgia's Altamaha River that he and his father found a tree resembling a gordonia, with white, magnolia-like flowers.  William Bartram returned and took seeds and propagated the plant.  Accounts vary, but the tree was last seen either in 1790 or 1803.  It has not been found in the wild since, and all specimens of Franklinia alatamaha are descended from the Bartrams' seeds.

As to the photo above, this is another native that was first described by William Bartram as he explored the shores of an island in Lake George in northern Florida.  He says of Hibiscus coccineus, "This most stately of all herbaceous plants grows ten or twelve feet high, branching regularly, so as to form a sharp cone.  These branches also divide again, and are embellished with large expanded crimson flowers.  I have seen this plant of the size and figure of a beautiful little tree, having at once several hundred of these splendid flowers, which may be then seen at a great distance."

The flower pictured here was growing in Milton Kuniansky's garden in Atlanta.  The perennial, hardy to Zone 7, begins blooming in late July and continues through August.  The plants usually reach six feet tall in cultivation.  The exquisite red flowers attract butterflies and hummingbirds.  The leaves have the distinction of closely resembling those of a marijuana plant.

If you want to grow this lovely native, be sure to plant it in an area that you can keep moist.  I've found that it will tolerate a short spell of drought, but since Hibiscus coccineus is native to swampy areas, it appreciates continuous moisture.  If you give it the right conditions, it's very easy to grow and a great way to provide color in the summer garden.

William Bartram's bright red discovery

In my treasured copy of the 1996 issue of Garden Design magazine is a section featuring some of the great writing of American botanist William Bartram (1739-1823).  I don't know how many times I've read these pages where Bartram, a native of Philadelphia whose father John Bartram was the chief botanist of the American colonies, writes about his travels in the southeastern United States.

It literally makes my hair stand on end to read his accounts of coiled up rattlesnakes, alligators and water moccasins, all of which he came in close contact with as he was exploring the swamps of Florida and Georgia.  It was on a trip to Georgia's Altamaha River that he and his father found a tree resembling a gordonia, with white, magnolia-like flowers.  William Bartram returned and took seeds and propagated the plant.  Accounts vary, but the tree was last seen either in 1790 or 1803.  It has not been found in the wild since, and all specimens of Franklinia alatamaha are descended from the Bartrams' seeds.

As to the photo above, this is another native that was first described by William Bartram as he explored the shores of an island in Lake George in northern Florida.  He says of Hibiscus coccineus, "This most stately of all herbaceous plants grows ten or twelve feet high, branching regularly, so as to form a sharp cone.  These branches also divide again, and are embellished with large expanded crimson flowers.  I have seen this plant of the size and figure of a beautiful little tree, having at once several hundred of these splendid flowers, which may be then seen at a great distance."

The flower pictured here was growing in Milton Kuniansky's garden in Atlanta.  The perennial, hardy to Zone 7, begins blooming in late July and continues through August.  The plants usually reach six feet tall in cultivation.  The exquisite red flowers attract butterflies and hummingbirds.  The leaves have the distinction of closely resembling those of a marijuana plant.

If you want to grow this lovely native, be sure to plant it in an area that you can keep moist.  I've found that it will tolerate a short spell of drought, but since Hibiscus coccineus is native to swampy areas, it appreciates continuous moisture.  If you give it the right conditions, it's very easy to grow and a great way to provide color in the summer garden.

Once upon a garden

Just as a true writer has to write, Kathryn MacDougald has to garden.  No matter where she has lived (and she's had to move several times in recent years), she's immediately created a beautiful garden. 

Kathryn is my business partner and executive producer of A Gardener's Diary.  She is also a garden designer.  I have long marveled at her talent and taste; she can turn the ugliest duckling of spaces (both interior and exterior) into something fabulous in no time at all.  When my daughters come back to Atlanta for a visit, they always want to take friends to see what Kathryn has done to her interiors.  Every room is stunning.

The garden you see here was built over two decades.  Kathryn is a rockaholic.  She rescued the big stones from a house that burned next door to me.  She also singlehandedly built a cobblestone driveway that is out of view of this photograph.  She hauled and installed every heavy Belgium block, and there must have been thousands.

What you can't see in this photograph, taken the year before her husband's family sold the three-plus acre property, are the perennials hidden by the tall poppies.  Kathryn was forever changing the plantings, and you could rely on discovering the very latest introductions and learning some new and intriguing plant combinations.

But alas, this garden is no more.  The log cabin, dating from the early 20th century is gone, too.  The latter was sold and dismantled so it could be reconstructed elsewhere. The rocks and cobblestones are stored at a friend's farm.

Today, if you ride by the property, you can catch a glimpse of a big new house being built over the area where the garden and log cabin once were.  On the one hand it seems sad, but if you go by Kathryn's present home, you feel better.   She's got lots of things growing (many plants have followed her from house to house; others reside with friends and relatives), and already her garden is something to be envied.