Making a Complete Aster of Myself

It was something of a shock to discover, a few years ago, that I had fallen in love with asters. Not only that, but the love affair continues to grow and flourish. And become even broader based than I had dreamed possible.

Let me qualify that. I fell in love with the perennial, fall blooming type of asters, whether they're tall or small, blue or purple or magenta or hot pink. I've never grown annual asters so I really can't comment on them, other than to say I like their colours. But over the few years, something has clicked in my head where perennial asters is concerned, and I can't get enough of them.


This wasn't always the case. My first contact with these plants was with the wild varieties--of which there are myriad. In Nova Scotia alone, there are 18 native species (of a total of 175 species of asters in total, most of which are native to North America). Some, such as the New England and New York species, hybridize with great enthusiasm, and it's hard to tell one from another without quite a bit of skill.

I know how many native asters there are in this province because I consulted Roland's Flora, the revised and updated version of The Flora of Nova Scotia, written originally by A.E. (Doc) Roland and E.C. Smith back in the forties. I've mentioned Doc before in postings; he was a professor of botany at the Nova Scotia Agricultural College, and a plantsman par excellence. When I arrived at AC in the late 70s, Doc had just retired but maintained his office in the biology department, and came in daily--sometimes to play chess with one of his colleagues, sometimes to write, sometimes to answer questions of students like me, who would drag in all sorts of plants or parts of plants and wonder what they were.


Doc was the only plant enthusiast I've ever met who could glance at a fragment of a plant and tell you instantly the genus, species, subspecies, and if applicable, cultivar. He was a whiz with asters, and if memory serves he had a particular interest in them. He was and still is one of my hort heroes, and along with his colleague Lorne McFadden, encouraged my love of botany and of growing plants. But when I worked one summer helping to build the NSAC herbarium of native and naturalized plants, our wild asters gave me headaches as I couldn't tell many of them apart.



Flash forward to today, jodi the gardener as opposed to jodi the botany student. I don't know how many times I've planted cultivated asters--alpine varieties, tall varieties, medium varieties--only to dig them up the following season, thinking they were weeds. And by the same token, I've cultivated impressive clumps of tall white aster, wood aster, heartleafed aster....all of which some would call 'weeds'...thinking they were the gorgeous varieties I had bought one place or another.

Or else the asters I HAD bought, supposedly the deep pink varieties that I coveted, would turn out to be...well, purple. Call it blue if you wish, but they're lavender purple to me--and while they're lovely, they weren't what I wanted at the time.


Finally, however, I got smart....sort of. Several years ago, I got a couple of tall pink asters from a friend of mine, planted them in a special part of the garden--labeled them carefully, and for good measure, took a picture of exactly where they were. The next spring, I was very patient, watching carefully as shoots emerged, resisting the urge to weed anything that might be an aster! I nurtured, and watched, and got excited as a clump formed exactly where I had planted one of my friend's and where the label though faded, still existed. Then I noticed another, bushier aster growing near the first, and wondered about that...waited and nurtured it and watched and discovered one day that it was one of the wild ones. I sent this plant rather quickly to the compost heap with a heap of bad language.

Then several local nurseries kindly brought in perennial asters, not only potted but in flower, so I could see what I was getting. I've also spent a good deal of time looking at other peoples' asters, as well as the wild ones. I've decided it doesn't matter what colour they are, or whether they're wild or domestic: I love them all, now. I've embraced the wild ones that pop up in the gardens, because butterfies, bees and other pollinators love them. So our garden is home to asters wild and cultivated, named and suffering from Lost Label syndrome. And I'm all right with all of them.

Some of the cultivated ones weren't named when I got them, so it's been amusing trying to figure out who is who; just about as challenging as trying to decide which wild species is which. I've decided this magenta cultivar is probably 'Jenny', because my sister has the same one. I think so, anyway.


This is the unusual, white flowered Puff--unusual to see a white flower at this time of year, although there are creamy white wild asters in bloom on the roadsides. It's a nice fresh counterpoint to some of the more jewel-coloured flowers currently still in bloom.


It's anyone's guess as to why this flamboyant deep-carmine marvel is named Winston Churchill, but it is. It's a low-growing type, or so far it is, and is making a really nice mound not far from Puff. The colour is clearer than the unnamed magenta variety I have, and not as hot-pink as Alma Potschke, a tall New England aster that may be my favourite overall.


This is the unique and well-named Lady in Black. No, the flowers are not black, but the foliage and stems are a deep magenta-near black. The plant smothers itself in tiny flowers and rather resembles flowery fireworks. It's a hybrid of the wild calico aster (A. lateriflorus), which I may or may not have weeded out of the garden in the past. I admit nothing where asters are concerned, when it comes to having nurtured or weeded the plants in my garden. Not any more.


Although Alma Potschke falls over (and is amazingly difficult to spell), I forgive her because she is such a marvelously coloured flower. I call this hot-pink though you may call it fuschia or carmine or any of a number of other descriptive colours. It's not magenta--there are still lots of magenta plants flowering in my garden, but they're more like 'Jenny. My dear Dad would likely have called that particular shade 'murple', or mauve-purple. Alma he would have described as being peptobismal pink, no doubt. Whatever the case, I love Alma's brilliance-a perfect contrasting colour to all the orange and russet and gold and yellow and bronze of this time of year. I did shear some of the asters in midsummer last year, which resulted in them growing lower and bushier and producing more flowers. The trick is to remember to do the shearing at the right time of season, so as not to delay blooming too much. Or, as was the case this year...to get it done at all. It didn't get done, so I have floppy-aster syndrome.

At least I don't have to shear the wild ones. Or stake them, label them, or do anything but enjoy them. Which I'm doing in abundance. Others may call them weeds in my garden. I'm calling them pollinators and bird-feeders.

And calling myself a bit of an aster for not surrendering years ago.

A Monarch Public Service Announcement

Nothing makes me happier than to see schools, community organizations, and others get behind a good cause. Take monarch butterflies, for example. It's no secret that I'm a fan of them, and of other pollinating creatures, and have been writing about them for a few years. We often have them in our garden, which is extremely butterfly/pollinator friendly, and many times I've sat mesmerized watching adults emerging from the chrysalis.


Recently, The Mersey Tobeatic Research Institute established a 'butterfly club' to encourage gardeners to grow swamp milkweed, (Asclepias incarnata) one of many milkweeds (but only two natives in NS, the other being A. syriaca) that monarch butterflies feed on in their larval stage. Without milkweeds, there are no monarchs. And there are problems in monarch populations, so every little bit we gardeners can do to help them is a good thing.

I'm especially delighted that schools are now getting into the act and planting butterfly gardens to help encourage the breeding and survival of monarchs (and other butterflies). One such school is Clark Rutherford Memorial School in Cornwallis, one of a handful of Nova Scotian schools that has earned the Earth School status through the Green Schools Canada program. I haven't yet been to the school or seen their garden, but I hope to visit sometime later this fall or else next spring. The school is participating in the Marvelous Monarch Migration Festival, happening this coming weekend throughout Southwestern Nova Scotia. Maybe you'll get a chance to take in some of the activities if you're in our area.

Have the monarchs started migrating in your area? I haven't seen any real numbers around here. I think the hummingbirds have finally left for warmer climates, but we're keeping the feeder up for a few days yet.

Because migrations or fall flowers or weather notwithstanding, I'm still in De Nile. I'm building a houseboat for those of you who wish to join me in that cruise.

September in De Nile...

I've tried to ignore the changing of the months by not changing my office calendar, but to no avail. Denial isn't working, as a quick stroll around the overgrown, overwhelmed garden will attest. It's definitely September.
The plants tell me even without a glance at the calendar. This willow gentian doesn't put in an appearance until September has broken over the horizon.

Ligularia 'Desdemona' is at her peak right now. I love the structure of her flowers although not so much the colour. This time of year brings a great deal of this shade of orange-yellow and also of magenta, which are both colours that seem to polarize people into the love/hate camp. Which do you belong to?

I've mentioned already that this is quite a year for hydrangeas, and Limelight is especially amazing right now. We cut this shrub back to about 3 feet tall in the spring, and it went nuts.

Some of these bloom clusters are almost the size of basketballs. They're a fabulous greenish yellow colour that pleases me to no end.

Herbstsonne rudbeckia is another late-season performer, and perform it does, shooting way into the air before putting on these marvelous shining flowers. My favourite of the rudbeckias, partly because of its dramatic height and partly for the striking green cones on the flowers.

We had a week or more of serious heat several weeks back, followed by Hurricane Bill, which wasn't so much of a garden terror, followed by Not-really-tropical-storm Danny, which was a huge pain in the asters to the garden. Hence the yard overall looks like chaos, with overgrown plants, way too many weeds, and a somewhat overwhelmed gardener. However, there are also delights among the chaos, like this Tradescantia 'Osprey.'

The Veronica-that-wants-to-eat-Scotts-Bay, (one of the creeping veronicas) has decided to celebrate the coming of September by putting up a few more flower spikes. And a lot more growth. Must. Thin. Out.

Echinacea 'Tiki Torch' isn't so much a torch as a matchhead this year, with one spleeny, but very orange, flower. I'm hoping it will come back next year, and the crown IS putting on new growth, but I'm not going to let it flower again this year.

One of a few new plants I'm testing out courtesy of GardenImport, this is Solidago 'Little Lemon'. I love its soft yellow colour, much less strident than most goldenrods. Don't be rollin' your eyes about goldenrod, by the way; its pollen is NOT airborne, so it's not responsible for your hay fever. It gets a bad rap because it does bloom at the same time as ragweed, asters, and other sneeze-makers.


Another one from GardenImport, this is 'Goldcrest' foxglove. I adore foxgloves of all kinds and could seriously become a collector of them. I'm hoping this one will return like my yellow and chocolate species do.


I should have that Goldcrest foxglove planted near 'Goldflame' Honeysuckle, as they make a nice colour echo. Oh, and the hummingbirds are STILL here, to my delight; they're busy with the bee balm, honeysuckles, roses and other plants that they favour.


Another definite harbinger of late summer in our garden is chelone, or Turtlehead. You can't see them, but many of the flowers on this clump of chelone were occupied by bumblebees, busily buzzing and looking for nice tasty nectar treats.


On the other hand, you can see a couple of bees making out with the blue lobelia (L. siphilitica). A good bit of my blue lobelia has white blossoms, which are very cooling and pleasant at this time of year, but I love the blue best. Even if it is more purple than blue.

This annual sage has been a great bloomer, much like the agastache at the beginning of this post, and as you can see, the bees are very fond of it too.

Here's someone I don't particularly like: a baldfaced wasp, hanging out in Actaea 'Black Negligee'. Whereas the bumblebees, honeybees, and I all get along very peacefully and I scarcely give them a thought except to admire and rejoice in them, I give wasps the wary eye. I don't remember the last time I was stung, but see no need to annoy them as long as they don't build a nest under the deck.

Okay, September denial is over. It's here, it's happening. Messy-garden denial has to end next. Extra strength ibuprofen, check. Work gloves, check. Wheelbarrow, check. Time to go out and start cleaning up the chaos a little bit. But at least there's still lots to enjoy, too.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

When bad things happen to good gardens...and other woes

The symmetry and beauty of flowers does a lot to calm us when we're in the middle of turmoil. I love nigella, and this white one does a great deal to just make me feel better about life in general. Although Hurricane Bill wasn't so much of an event, it did manage to make a mess in the garden. And this has been the week of electronic tantrums, too.

My digital SLR camera is acting up so it's on its way to the shop to be cleaned and checked over. That's annoying enough, but the real fun was Sunday morning when I went to wake up Oggy, my MacBook Pro laptop...and there was no video. Turned out that there was shortly afterwards no computer activity at all, because the motherboard had fried. THREE HUGE CHEERS, however, for my Applecare Extended warranty, which replaced the motherboard that would otherwise have cost over $1000.00 Canadian.

A public service announcement to those with Intel-based Mac laptops: apparently, the fans that are supposed to keep the computer cool aren't set high enough (at least in older ones like Oggy). However, there is a small, free program called sncFAnControl that you can download and install, which controls the fan RPMs. I do not know if this is an issue with new laptops, but ask your Apple technician if you have concerns. Mine is certainly running much cooler since its new motherboard and this program were installed. Hopefully my electronic storms are over with! It's no fun trying to read or write blogs on an iPhone, and my hubby's old computer just makes me cranky. Spoiled, that's me!


Back to the story of the garden. Not-really-hurricane Bill did bring a LOT of rain and wind, but the most annoying thing was that the wind changed direction a few times, and managed to create a greatly disheveled garden. Happily, the coneflowers weren't damaged, just made to lean a little, which I've since corrected with a few bamboo stakes and some plant velcro.


To reward me for my labours, 'Mac n Cheese' has really gotten its colour, and sure does look like that particular dish. 'Tiki Torch is in the process of opening, but we're having post-tropical Danny here today so it's bleak and rainy.


Inula (sometimes called Elecampane) is an odd plant, a relative of sunflowers and coneflowers, and a shy, retiring little fellow--regularly reaching well over six feet tall in our garden. It was a staple of Acadien potager gardens, but I have yet to find out definitively why. It was apparently used to treat as diverse ailments as sciatica and colds. Whatever the case, I like the plant's stature and flowers, and it's in a spot where it can get as tall as it wishes.


We grow a fair number of clematis, which do well here because the soil is clay and well mulched, so the roots get the 'cool feet' that they want, while the rest of the plant gets the 'warm head' part of the equation. This species regularly stretches up ten feet (and would go higher if the trellis was taller.


Being a digital shot, the photo looks more purple than the wine the flowers really are.

The little yellow-flowered C. tangutica is still flowering--and growing--profusely. Not as showy as some of its counterparts, but I love the seedheads, which hang on til well into late autumn unless the wind beats them off.



This is Clematis integrifolia 'Caerulea', one of my favourites. Some allow it to ramble across rock walls, but we have ours more or less on an obelisk, (where it has grapevines and a rambunctious rudbeckia relative keeping it company.

Late summer means that the Brazilian vervain (V. bonariensis) is in bloom. I'm going to make carefully where mine are, and not disturb the ground around them in spring, so that they'll reseed. Mine are seedlings given to me by a friend (and much beloved because they're a favourite flower of butterflies, too).

The helenium is also flowering where its in full sun. Other plants, that are in more shade and also taller species, won't be coming on for a little while yet.

Although the monarda is still enthusiastically blooming, and was unphased by the winds, I think that our hummingbirds have packed up and left. Maybe they read about post-tropical Danny, which has brought rain today and possibly wind later. NO matter. It's a good day to catch up on my blog reading. The garden work can wait til a drier day.

Have I told you lately how I love Echinaceas?

We interrupt your possible weather tantrums for some important news...bloomingwriter is absolutely crazy about coneflowers, and they're approaching peak bloom in her garden.


I can't repeat often enough that one of the absolute ultimate perennials in our garden is the coneflower. I loved them when we had only two choices, (purple and white); I lost my mind for them when the new colours started appearing. My favourite? You'll see in a bit.

Although this was not the year for getting much done in the garden in spring and early summer, I did manage to addfew new and new-to-our-garden varieties this year, of course. Of those, several haven't yet flowered but are working on it: Meringue, Twilight, and Tiki Torch were all somewhat traumatized when I got them, and are just rallying now. This has been a complaint for other gardeners; that some of the new colours of cones are rushed into production so quickly that the plants are weak when sent out to nurseries. Maybe they should be allowed to grow on for a year and then sold. That would be my opinion.


So far, I'm loving the rich colour of 'Tomato Soup', shown here with a fading flower, one approaching maturity, and several just getting going. This one is planted near 'Summer Sky' and 'Sundown', but I can't get a great photo of all of them in one shot for colour comparisons because they're just that far apart, in various stages of flowering, and so on.

I've been watching the past few days as 'Mac n Cheese' starts to flower. It looks to be almost the same shade as 'Harvest Moon', but we'll see what happens after the weekend. Why after the weekend? Stay tuned below...

This is still my favourite of the new coneflowers, and has been since I brought it home in 2007: 'Green Envy'. I love everything about this cone; its colour, its vigour, its LONG bloom period; it'll still be putting up stems in October, if the past two seasons are any indication.

Equally charming, though different, is the double 'Coconut Lime.' This plant is very vigourous and floriferous this year, though a second plant that was struggling last year is still sulking this summer.

I know not everyone loves the double coneflowers because the central florets obscure the cones But I like the exuberance of 'Pink Double Delight' a great deal. I have another double pink that is suffering from Lost Label syndrome, and I believe it's 'Razzmatazz', which seems to have more reflexed petals than this one.

Speaking of reflexed petals, here is 'Harvest Moon', from the Big Sky series. Its sibling, 'Sundown', is at the top of this post, with leaf-cutter bee slices taken out of several petals. In the background of this photo is 'Sunrise', which is pale yellow and hiding behind the moon.

Here's 'Summer Sky', and I have to say the sky did show these shades last night when the sun set. Tonight, not so much.

This is possibly my second-favourite coneflower because of the message it presents. 'Hope' was created as a tribute to those who have had breast cancer. I've taken it as my avatar in several sites, including on Facebook, and will be changing here, too. The flowers are just gorgeous, and anytime I get one with that green eye staying pretty green I'm happy. Must be part Irish, or something.

We may be needing the luck of the Irish here in Nova Scotia in the next couple of days, because there's a weather tantrum headed this way by the name of Hurricane Bill. While this amuses me a bit because we have a friend named Bill who reminds me of a hurricane, I don't think any of us need a hurricane to come calling. It may hit the south shore of the province, all coasts, or miss us entirely. But I hope that everyone and everything, from coneflowers to hummingbirds to cottages to boats, will stay safe over the next couple of days while the weather forces make up their minds.