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Before we get started this week, I just wanted to thank all of you who responded to last week’s newsletter. Knowing how many of you share my sentiments and concerns for our dwindling woodlands and riparian zones and the safety and health of the animals that live in them is both affirming and reassuring. I hope it was able to spark a larger conversation amongst your own communities about how to prevent very preventable natural tragedies in the future.
Happy summer, folks! Blustering in on the back of an unexpected burst of heat, humidity, and storms, the fickle mistress that is the solstice has arrived. With it, the fluorescent blooms of Callirhoe involucrata take the stage along rocky borders, hardy tropical plants like Ensete maurelli and Musa basjoo begin less tentatively unfurling their leaves, and blazing stars (Liatris sp.) shoot for the balmy summer sky, promising tiny purple fireworks in the coming weeks. The rain and cool weather have allowed for a prosperous growing season, with perennials fuller and more lush than ever before, and fruiting shrubs and trees teeming with plentiful harvests for furred and feathered friends. Despite the confident beauty of the early summer and the feel-good vibes that it should instill, it is the aforementioned fauna that I’d like to speak of this week.
Sometimes, our best laid plans not only go to waste, but plummet to hell in a handbasket as we wonder where we went wrong. Over the last four years as I’ve chipped slowly away at my swampy Pennsylvanian yard, incorporating facultative wetland plants into the inundated soil and more lenient selections along the (slightly) drier fence line, I’ve watched with curiosity and occasional chagrin as some things thrive and other things gasp their last pathetic breaths, cursing me for placing them in poorly planned spots.
One of the only temperate Buxaceae family members worth talking about besides Sarcococca sp. (and I will fight you with my whole chest defending that argument) is our native, creeping evergreen groundcover, Pachysandra procumbens. Endemic to Mid-Atlantic woodlands and aptly called Allegheny spurge, Pachysandra procumbens is often overlooked for its more dense, vigorously growing Japanese cousin, Pachysandra terminalis. You may be familiar with Japanese spurge, as most people are, primarily due to everybody’s grandmother planting it back in the 70’s, allowing it to live long and prosper throughout suburbia for the last half a century.
May truly gifts us the cusp of springtime blooms: a mixture of yellow and purple irises, multi-hued Baptisia, prehistoric and obscure Calycanthus, perennial meadow sages and icy blue Amsonia flowers welcome the flood of seasonal colors still yet to make an appearance. Of notable spring-flowering woody shrubs, lilacs may be some of the most recognizable to even the greenest of plant novices. With all of the plant selections available these days, it’s easy to forget that classic ornamental plants like the standard lilac have maintained a critical role in landscape and garden design for centuries.
Remember when we sort of casually dropped the “oh yeah, by the way, we’re growing more quart-sized containers now” and then puffed into thin air? Well, partially that’s because they’ve been selling like hotcakes, but also because there was something bigger in the works - we have even more quart-sized containers now. That’s right, baby: May is here, and we’re starting to put in new inventory, including a smattering of quart-sized container material.
Pre-COVID times, my family and I would vacation annually in Corolla, one of the northern most seaside towns in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Elaborate, three-story mansions act as surrogate homes for traveling families who ache for a salty, languid retreat amidst a fast-paced, technologically pressurized world. Among these houses, there were a few that sat along the beach which, in particular, displayed similarly elaborate upright structures constructed of white “gourds” arranged on spokes laterally around a central hub. Flitting in and out of the circular doorways, their liquid song spilling into the ocean air, Purple Martins would greet our crew as we shuffled to the beach. Collectively, we found them charming and soon they became a welcomed symbol of our time together in the Outer Banks. Imagine my surprise several years later when I’d find myself at Pleasant Run, face-to-face with some of the most well-designed Purple Martin houses I’d ever seen - and right here in New Jersey!
Last week, we covered a notorious garden volunteer, Viola soraria, a native groundcover with a sordid history that has some scratching their heads as to why we would even bother selling it (I make my argument here and will die on this hill). This week we’re taking the alternate route and telling you about quite the opposite - a small, native tree that, very genuinely, we have a hard time keeping in stock due to their popularity and covetousness. That’s right - of course, we’re talking about our native Eastern redbud, Cercis canadensis.
It’s always a hard sell trying to convince someone that the “weed” they’ve been ripping out of their gardens for as long as they can remember is actually a beneficial (albeit mildly aggressive) native plant. One of the most notable, perhaps, of plants considered an offense to the native gardener’s senses is none other than Viola soraria.
The unraveling of magnolia flowers signifies the arrival of true spring, and this year we’ve been blessed with warm enough weather that ensures blooms won’t be destroyed by an unexpected frost. In both the landscape as well as our production houses, the magnolias are springing to life, tempting passersby with their delicate floral fragrance. Despite our meager human attraction to the large, varied, prehistoric flowers, magnolias have evolved specifically to seduce Coleopterans (beetles), Dipterans (flies), and Hymenopterans (bees, wasps, and ants). Some Central and South American magnolia species play host to scarab beetles, who not only pollinate the flowers, but also derive nutrients from the petals and utilize the large floral spaces as shelter for reproductive activities.
Happy spring, everybody! Although March is in its lion-before-the-lamb phase, it’s been nothing short of relieving to experience the arrival of warmer, longer days: the orchestra of birdsong is hitting a crescendo with previously southern-flown winter migrating species reclaiming their territories in our temperate Northeastern forests and wood lines; bright yellow daffodils and purple crocuses promise the return of color to our favorite outdoor spaces, signaling the true beginning of the new growing season.
We’ve made it. The unofficial beginning to spring rides in at midnight, signaling longer sunlight hours and promising warmer days ahead. Snowdrops hang their nodding white flowers in silent agreement, while daffodils, tulips, and the rest of the bulb world are at the precipice of their annual exhibition. Some of the first crocuses are starting to appear, meaning true springtime isn’t far behind. Meanwhile, the most discerning horticultural eyes are able to discern the fattening of foliar and floral buds on woody shrubs and trees, the perking-up of evergreen groundcovers and shrubs, and even the emergence of some insect companions.
Can you believe we’re just a little over a week away from the beginning of Daylight Savings? Maybe you can - after all, the days have been getting noticeably longer, the weather is slowly warming (although perhaps falsely), and the eyes of spring are beginning to peek out from their slumber.
We’ve been hearing the word “ruderal” thrown around a lot lately. Ruderal plants are the rough-and-tumble baddies that take over in some unlikely circumstances: disturbed roadsides, slopes, poor soil conditions, drought-prone areas, burn sites, etc. You name a difficult growing situation, and there’s a ruderal plant ready to take charge.
Right on the heels of Valentine’s Day, and with so much uncertainty and turmoil in the world, we’d like to take this week to remind ourselves to reflect and feel comforted in our heart spaces. Yeah, it sure does sound like New Age woo-woo, but speaking as a life-long existential nihilist to you, dear reader, forcing some positivity into our internal selves is rather cathartic.
Happy 2025, friends! We’re back and ready for a brand new year of growin’, nursin’, and slingin’ plants.
It’s a jam-packed January starting as soon as next week. We are proud sponsors of the New Directions in the American Landscape’s (NDAL) Annual Symposium, split across two fantastic event spaces over the course of two weeks.
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With 2024 coming to an end and 2025 on its heels, when better to prepare you for the next annual color palette than now? Pantone has officially released its Color of the Year for 2025: now introducing Mocha Mousse. |
As we wrap things up for 2024 and begin to reflect on the months behind us, we want to thank you for your continued support and friendship throughout the year. Despite unprecedented weather-related challenges, some production hurdles, and an entire reconstruction of our website, this has still managed to be our most successful year to date.
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With Thanksgiving upon us, what better time is there than now to explore some flowering friends that have been used to symbolize gratitude since the Victorian era? The language of flowers has long been utilized as a communication tool, helping lovers, friends, and enemies alike to politely let their feelings be known by way of floral and foliar arrangements. Gratitude, alongside love and grief, is a universal emotion often interpreted through the gifting of floral arrangements. While some of the meanings have evolved through time, some historically significant selections of flowers such as small white bellflowers have maintained their original connotations. In Kate Greenaway’s Language of Flowers, the white bellflower simply represents gratitude. You can read through all of the other Victorian-age flower meanings in a PDF version of an original print by clicking HERE. |
You’ve been told to “leave the leaves”, but this is your sign to Save The Seeds! Spent seedheads of native (and even non-native) flowering perennials are vital to the success of many overwintering insect and bird populations. Not only do birds ravage the remaining nutritious seeds, but some bees and wasps have been found to burrow into spent stems and plant cavities for protection from winter conditions. Sure, perennial genera like Echinacea and Rudbeckia are known beneficials as seedy, textural components in the winter landscape, but what about plants with some real pizazz? After all, if we’re gonna leave the seeds, we may as well enjoy what we’re looking at.
Typically, autumn is all about the stunning array of color abound in our landscapes, chalked up primarily to the deciduous shrubs and trees that dot or woodlands. Vines tend to always get a bit obscured by these rose-colored (or red, orange, or purple-colored, so to speak) glasses that we wear this time of year, despite offering as many ornamental and ecological benefits as their more grounded kin. This week, let’s chat native vines that sparkle in the landscape with bold yellows during spring, summer, and fall.
Speaking of Halloween, by this time next week, the trick-or-treaters will have long been sugared up, Jack-o-Lantern candles will have been long extinguished, and the mad rush to get ready for the holidays will have begun. Before we get too ahead of ourselves on the calendar, let’s take a moment to really revel in the final days of early autumn – crisp, fallen leaves, pleasantly chilly mornings, and the final buds and blooms of the season.
October is a month immersed in color throughout the horticultural world. Typically, pink is not one of the colors that comes to mind during the spooky season, with the exception of hot pink ribbons representing the global call for action against breast cancer and championing the brave individuals who’ve fought brazenly against the disease.
For those of you waiting with baited breath for the annual celebration of Fat Bear Week, wait no longer. Starting this past Wednesday, October 2nd, and continuing until 9pm Tuesday, October 8th, the elimination tournament between four large, furry contenders rages on – only the fattest will survive.
In celebration of National Public Lands Day, we encourage you to get out and explore your closest designated National Park, Historic Site, Recreational Area, Monument, Military Park, Seashore, Scenic Trail, or Reserve, and take in the natural beauty that has been preserved within our local seven-state region.
The wait is over! The irrefutable favorite season of Northeasterners and Midwesterners everywhere, the Autumn Equinox is ready for its annual debut this Sunday, September 22nd. In celebration of cool mornings, dark early evenings, bonfires, hayrides, and an abundance of pumpkins and apples in our futures, this week we’re introducing some of our favorite fall selections meant to bring color, texture, and variety to the landscape or container planting.
Last week, we celebrated the arrival of our native aster blooms as they begin to unfurl around the nursery. As promised, this week we’ll be exploring their phylogenic cousins, the goldenrods. It’s almost like September is designed exclusively for the parade of yellows, purples and blues that categorically make up the perennial palette of autumn, all belonging to the second largest flowering family worldwide: Asteraceae. The golden plumes of our native goldenrods, which are considered critical keystone species, are identifiable beacons of the end of summer, recognizable to even the most novice plant lovers.
Now that September has officially arrived (also known as the unofficial start of autumn, if you’ve been eagerly counting down the days to spooky season like I have), both us lowly humans as well as our plant companions are ready for well-deserved break from the summer heat. As the nighttime emerges more quickly and the sun seems wont to rise in the brisk early mornings, the purples, blues, and yellows that signal the arrival of autumn slowly begin to unravel. Asters and goldenrods are the champion perennials of late summer to early autumn, their complimentary hues playing against one another in the landscape. At a time when many other native perennials are at a standstill, these two provide critical nectar sources for pollinators late in the season.
Please note that we will be closed in observance of Labor Day on Monday, September 2nd.
We will return on Tuesday, September 3rd at 7am to assist you with all of your plant needs and help you get ready for all of your fall projects - please be patient as we try to catch up on pulling orders that morning. Prepare to pick up any plant material that day in the late morning to early afternoon hours.
