Golden lotus banana, Musella lasiocarpa; little banana, big interest.

 Four golden lotus "flowers" in May as new leaves are just starting to emerge in my Calistoga garden.

I first heard of Musella in the mid-90's in some catalogue (can't remember the name) which mentioned its great hardiness and showed a tiny picture of its "flower".   At that time I was living and gardening at the Maybeck Cottage Garden in Berkeley CA, and I was open to trying almost anything.  I also like the look of bananas and had several growing in the garden there already. (The name Musella is a diminuative of Musa, a genus of bananas). Soon afterward, I noticed Heronswood Nursery (then in Kingston WA) had it listed in their catalogue, and since at that time I was ordering dozens of fascinating plants from that amazing place (quite different from today), I ordered one.  I have to confess I also loved the name, Musella, so soothing and mellifluous.

In the winter months after the leaves die off, a swollen "bud" emerges from the succulent trunk.

I planted my new treasure in the front bed, where the breakfast nook jutted out, and enjoyed its tropical looking foliage the first season.  Even in its first year the main stem became surrounded by many pups.  In the second season, the plant grew robustly developing a thick succulent short trunk from which 4' long elongated oval leaves were produced.  By this time the plant was a small colony of stems and leaves and provided a lovely contrast to the chusan palm, Trachycarpus wagnerianus, nearby.  But it was still entirely a foliage plant.  It wasn't until the third winter that it finally flowered.

Here in my Calistoga garden, Musella forms an excellent mass of large foliage that is highly resistant to tearing or shredding - so common in true bananas.  The large foliage, while textural in itself, provides a "shadow board" for the nearby Trachycarpus.

While this plant is touted for its winter hardiness, I have only grown it in the moderate climates of the Bay Area of California, where frosts are rare.  But even here, in winter, especially by mid December, or earlier if there is a frost, the large, strong leaves begin to deteriorate in appearance. I cut them off at this stage.  This leaves the strange club-like trunks encased in recurving dried leaf bases, which while having that "weird factor" is probably best considered the "off season".  But once the plant has a few years of establishment, these odd trunks will suddenly burgeon at the tops.  Eventually a large swollen "bud" is formed of bracts that are variously colored gold, golden orange, or reddish orange.

First season "bud" on left and second season "bud" on right.  Initially this "flower" will seem to come out of the stem top, whereas in subsequent years it will appear on top of the dried bracts of the previous seasons' "flower".  Eventually the entire stem will die.

From my experience both in Berkeley and Calistoga, this budding can occur nearly any winter month, but is inevitable by spring.  As the outer bracts of this "bud" curl back, an interior of dozens of golden bracts condensed into a fat artichoke-like structure is revealed .  These continue to curl back, eventually forming the "lotus-like" head that is strangely beautiful with its cone-like center with a glowing tip, and golden orange reflexed bracts.

 Three true flowers can be seen poking out of the base of the bracts as they reflex.

The "true" flowers are actually small tubular flowers on the inside base of each bract.  They are the same color as the bracts, and are partially hidden unless you look directly inside the head.  They are extremely popular with hummingbirds in my garden suggesting that there is a reward inside each tube.  The humming birds will often sit on the reflexed bracts and delicately sip out of the rows of tubular flowers.  For some reason this sight always reminds me of a comparative wine tasting.

 Two close ups of the foliage showing the pronounced textural quality of the leaves which are slightly folded with a strong central rib running the length and a herring-bone pattern of the lateral veins - more pronounced below than above.

 The color(s) of the "lotus" have a wonderful radiant quality, even during dreary wet weather, the glowing heads almost appear to float in the landscape, reinforcing the appropriateness of its common name.  On those days with glowing skies at sunset or dawn, the heads almost seem on fire.

A second season "flower" showing both the lovely spiral arrangement of the bracts and the glowing golden color that seem radiant in early or late light.

This closer view of the Musella foliage shows the rippled leaf surface, adding a pleasant visual richness to the leaf.  The ability for shadows to play on the leaf is another plus.

Gradually, as spring moves into summer, the leaves will once again re-appear and gradually "swallow up" the golden louts heads, masking them unless you have the curiosity to pry apart the leaves.  But from my observations it seems like the flowering stops altogether.  And while the floral heads are what may attract the plant enthusiast, the foliage mass is not to be disparaged.  In many ways it is most similar to the bird-of paradise plant, Strelitzia reginae, but with bigger bolder leaves, more like the giant bird-of-paradise, S. nicolai, but not quite as large and never developing the tall trunk that species will develop.  The biggest plus is that the leaves are very tough, seldom ripping or shredding which is so common on the big Strelitzia and most bananas.  My biggest plant in the Calistoga garden gets the full brunt of near-hurricane force winds during our many ferocious wind storms - storms that often last more than a day.  These are storms that can defoliate some plants  - but not the Musella.  Not that these leaves are completely tear proof, but they are tough.

 By the second season after flowering, the flower head and stem finishes its life cycle.  On the left the smaller head is above the previous season's dried bracts.  On the right, flowering has ceased and large, pea-sized black seeds burst out of their enclosures.

While I have read that this plant grows best with routine water and good drainage, and I'm sure the plant would love these conditions, my reality has been of heavy soils and drought stress.  Yet my plants look great.  And better than that, the foliage shows almost no stress even on the hottest days - often in the low hundreds (F) here, while almost everything else in the garden looks wilted and distressed.  I think the fleshy root mass probably accounts for this ability to deal with so much heat, providing water even when there isn't any in the surrounding soil.

 A garden view of Musella in May on a rainy day where the flower heads suggest torches.

Fortunately for us here in the Bay Area of CA, this once obscure plant is no longer hard to find in the retail nursery trade.  So for those who have a tickling for the tropical, let us lotus, the golden lotus that is.

Whether in sun or overcast, the plant in f lower is radiant; a wonderful addition to any garden.

On the Rocks; gardening on a rock outcrop. Part 1

The rocky bank as I first saw it before we purchased the property.  Here it is covered in dry weedy grasses, thistles, etc.  There are two separate terraces above the stone-inlaid concrete walls, with garage, small house (roof) and water tanks behind them.

A habitat that has always fascinated me is the rock outcrop.  Rock plants are frequently different than the prevailing plant community, thus represent a sort of island of unusual beings.  The conditions of growing on rocks often creates plants of atypical form or expressions, odd appearances and features.  And plants growing on rocks tend to display themselves dramatically and with flair.

Part natural, part exposed rock bank along driveway just after moving in.  A few pots, ceramic pig, pipes and metal sculptures temporarily set against hillside awaiting decision on future placement. The lower of two concrete retaining walls can be seen at top.

Because of my attraction to rock outcrops, I have often envied yards that had exposed rock. One could construct a rock outcrop, but that is a lot of work. And unless you are very good with rocks, it is often unsatisfactory, especially compared with nature.

So I was rather thrilled when we bought our property in Calistoga 5 years ago and it had considerable rock around the houses. I speculate that originally the site was probably an impressive rock outcrop that mostly got leveled to build the two houses, garage and two driveways.  However fragments persisted and some areas were actually created by excavation, which exposed the subsurface rock.

The rock bank after first rains showing new growth. predominantly weeds.  Two Yucca and a 'Santa Rita' opuntia (cactus w pinkish pads) and the pre-existing purple fountain grass (Pennisetum) are the only plantings in Nov 05. (The little shed is a pump house).

While the horticulturist may crave rocks, rocks don't crave horticulture; the simple truth is that it is really hard to grow plants on rocks.  On this bank the top had something like soil in spots, a colluvium of clay and rock rubble, but other sections are mostly rock and rubble.  The four native blue oak - Quercus douglasii - were obviously going to have priority of resources, especially water once the heat arrives.  There were three other native plants growing there; the perennial Phacelia heterophylla, the summer dormant bulb, soap plant, Chlorogalum pomeridianum, and another bulb (corm) called blue dicks, Dichelostemma capitatum.

 By the spring of 2006 more planting had taken place, especially at the base of the bank where good soil had been brought in to grow a more traditional mix of horticultural material such as roses, Cape reed, Chondropetalum tectorum, shrub milkwort, Polygala dalmasiana, 'Purple Haze' honeyplant, woodland beschorneria, etc. etc. etc.  The idea was to make the approach to the main house more exuberant, but not to hide the rock face.  Most of the growth on top of the rock are the pre-existing natives; phacelia and soap plant.

The rock outcrop here was always intended to be naturalistic with an overlay of horticultural experimentation.  Seen mostly in passing while driving or walking along the driveway, it was not intended to be a precious "rock garden" of choice alpine treasures or minute bun plants.  That is another form of horticulture altogether,  generally more suited to a place where the exquisite details of those types of plants can be more fully appreciated.

 By the spring of 2008 both the bottom "mixed border" planting as well as the rock planting itself had grown in a bit, although the plants on the rocks were quite slow.  Thus there is not much that stands out in this picture except the Yucca 'Blue Boy' below the wall and the Yucca aloeifolia 'Marginata' above the wall.  However all the native-to-site plants were thriving, and the diversity of plants was much greater than might appear.  On the rocks were shrubby Senecio, many Agave species and cultivars, Dudleya and Echeveria, Pachyveria, Salvia sonomensis and S. brandegei, Aloe species, Trachycarpus wagnerianus, Eriogonum umbellatum, Xanthorrhoea preissii, Watsonia X's, Amaryllis belladonna, Amarcrinum, Aeonium, Puya, etc.  Also another native annual, Phacelia distans had moved in on its own.

The summer months were very hard on the rock plantings as they received very little water, some none, and they are subjected to many hours of intense sun and heat almost every day for 6 months.  The plantings at the bottom did receive more regular irrigation, thus were able to "cover" for the drier background planting.  While many gardeners consider the winter as the "off season", here it is the opposite, with summer being the dormant time of year.  In spite of this, some plants did retain good appearance, particularly the Yucca, Opuntia and the shrub Senecio - which are particularly impressive in their drought tolerance (there are two green plume-like small  Senecio shrubs below the wall, one on the left and one in the middle, both near oak trunks.)

By November most of the plants are in full re-hydration and starting to grow again.  This is the same pattern as one would find in nature in this area.  However a "trick" I developed while taking care of the CA native collection when I was at the UC Botanical Garden (1978 - 2002) was to extend the season by starting to water in October if the rains didn't appear on their own - this activates the new growth so when the rains do materialize, the plants are set up to utilize the moisture more rapidly.  (While the philosophy of "celebrating dormancy" is valid in a dry climate, after 6 months, the celebration gets kind of tiring. Time to celebrate rejuvenation.)

 

This is a close up detail of the center of the rock area showing several Agave, Dudleya, Pachyveria, and the trailing Opuntia compressa. (Opuntia compressa, native to the central and eastern North American continent especially on sand dunes along the coast and Great Lakes, is a lovely cactus of great hardiness.  It is best displayed cascading down a slope.  However, while its lack of large spines makes it look "friendly" for a cactus, the tiny and numerous glochid spines - barely visible - can be insidious and irritating if handled without good gloves).

By late January the rock plants are in full growth, with an Aloe arborescens Variegata in flower.  The two green shrub Senecio, mentioned above, are especially attractive in the winter light.  The low gray ground cover on the top center of the bank is the native sage, Salvia sonomensis, native to the volcanic ridges not far from the property. It, and the native bulb called blue dicks, while not obvious in this picture, are already in flower. 

 

 View of rocky bank planting in April 2010.  Spring is definitely the peak season here, though some of these will look good into the early summer; particularly the mixed shrub plantings at the base which get routine irrigation.  The numerous yellow flowered scapes projecting from the upper rocks are the native wallflower, Erysimum capitatum, grown from seed obtained in the canyon.  Blue dicks, Dichelostemma capitatum, are numerous on the upper slopes, but not as visible in this picture - yet are showy in real life.

Part II will feature more detailed portraits of a few select plants from this rocky site.

Room with a view

Moonnrise above The Palisades, 30 Nov 09.

I've been very fortunate in my life to have lived in a number of exceptionally scenic spots. During college in Ithaca NY I shared an apartment in a rather funky building perched above Ithaca Falls with views out over the valley - though not of the lake. Ithaca Falls is one of the Finger Lakes regions' many scenic waterfalls but is within the city limits and was exceptionally lovely when frozen in winter, or swollen with spring rains.

View across the San Francisco Bay from the Maybeck Cottage garden, 11 Jan 2000.

While in Berkeley CA, during part of my career at the UC Botanical Garden, I lived for 14 years in the Maybeck Cottage in North Berkeley. This was another rather funky structure - though with great charm and the historical association with architect Bernard Maybeck and his family - but it also was sited directly across the bay, with an unobstructed view of the Golden Gate Bridge connecting San Francisco with the Marin headlands. I could watch the sunset move N to S (and vice-versa) as the seasons changed, and I believe it was around Nov 5th when it set in the middle of the bridge from my perspective (the spring counterpart was in early Feb.) First as a renter and later as an owner with David McCrory, the Maybeck Cottage was the place I was able to really explore the horticultural possibilities of living in the Bay Area of California, as well as explore my concept of gardening itself. (check out our website for more pictures of the Maybeck Cottage garden, www.planethorticulture.com.) While at the UC Bot Garden, another great viewspot, I was able to explore the full spectrum of California native plants - or at least those I could successfully grow. Though of "lesser" importance, I also took care of the Bot Garden's Eastern North American collection of plants. In Berkeley my "horticultural plate" always looked like Thanksgiving Dinner, seemingly way too much, but all delicious stuff.

Daytime view of The Palisades above Calistoga, from our deck, 3 Dec 09.

Now we live in Calistoga CA at the N end of the famous Napa Valley. Our house looks directly E and NE toward The Palisades, a long escarpment of volcanic rock S of Mt. St. Helena (the highest point in the county at 4300'). Although the term, The Palisades, specifically applies to the stretch of cliffs, most folks, myself included, use the name to refer to the entire plateau stretching S of Mt. St. Helena to just S of the gap where the old Oat Hill Mine Rd. (now a trail) passes E through the cliffs toward Aetna Springs. Most of this plateau is in the 2400' - 3,000' range. Palisade is a term originally applied to fences, barriers or fortifications made out of pales or stakes, usually sharpened at the top and set into the ground. We have all seen movies with re-created forts employing this technique. Later the term was put on long stretches of cliffs, often along riverbanks, that resembled this type of fortification. I am not sure when the name was applied to the cliffs above Calistoga, but it was probably early on in European settlement of the valley. Every sunny day, from our house, we can watch the last sunlight move up the cliff-face, usually accompanied by a color change as it approaches true sunset; first golden, then orange, then reddish. Once the sun has set in the W, the rock turns back to a cold gray color with amethyst tints. Thus, although we can't watch the true sunset, we get a reflected sunset on the cliffs.

The Palisades in the orange phase with rising moon above, 29 Nov 09.

Because I look out at The Palisades every day, I tend to take a lot of pictures of it. Rather than bore you with endless sets of similar pictures, I chose some of my favorites from the last 4 months. This is my favorite time of year as the latest sun hits the cliffs directly and the moon moves to the N to rise above the cliffs (whereas in the peak of summer the cliffs are in shadow from Mt. St. Helena at sunset and the moon rises over the ridge to the S).

Late light on storm clouds, 22 Nov 09, just before sunset.

(same as above)

Same date as above but more to the S where the Oat Hill Mine Rd. pierces the facade of The Palisades to continue eastward (now a popular hiking/biking trail).

Moon above at very last light, 31 Oct 09.

Date as in previous, but moon appearing to be ready to roll off cliffs.

A slice of late light as sun gets below ceiling of clouds, illuminating the central cliff portion, 18 Oct 09.

As above but near the N end of cliffs.

Last light and rising moon, 2 Sept 09. Here the moon is still S of the main cliff section.

Nearly the full escarpment, 26 Aug 09.

Post sunset cloud glow, 31 Aug 09.

Slipping into darkness, post sunset glow and moon over Oat Hill Mine Rd. ridge.

Two blues

Rich saturated glowing blue color in flowers is rare.

On our property here in Calistoga, CA, we are fortunate in having three native larkspur, genus Delphinium, the scarlet Delphinium nudicaule, the dark purple-blue D. decorum, and the cobalt blue to purple-blue D. variegatum. I do not want in any way to disparage the other two for they are exceptional species, but the glistening cobalt blue D. variegatum is hard to get enough of.

It is hard in these smaller photos to capture the glistening quality of the petal surface which have both the "diamond-dusted" and "crepe-like" characters seen in plants such as bearded iris or some poppies.

This species seems to have more color variation than either of the two other mentioned which are fairly constant. One extreme here is the darker purple type.

This species grows in clay soils that are wet during the winter months, often with water oozing from the bank edge where these grow here. The other two have their distinct habitats; the scarlet larkspur grows in fractured rock and rubble, while the D. decorum grows on steep slopes in a clay/gravel mix typically at the edge of woodland or under deciduous oaks. This is a drift of the larkspur on the edge of a precipice in Calistoga. Over the years I've seen many fabulous displays of this native plant. Perhaps the most memorable was several acres of vernally wet clay meadow called Morgan Valley near the Reif-Rayhouse Rd. in southern Lake Co.

As glorious as this larkspur is to enjoy in the wild, it is not considered transferable to a garden setting, though folks will keep trying. The larkspurs in horticulture are generally preferable in this regard, though even those can be a challenge -but one with great reward.

A plant that I grow in my garden here in Calistoga that shows great promise for a stunning blue flowered panicle several feet tall is the rare Echium gentianoides, or tajinaste azul. It is restricted in the wild to the mountains on the island of La Palma in the Canary Island group. Annie Hays of Annie's Annuals has propagated this beauty. I was initially cautious, as other Echium species have become noxious weeds in the coastal regions of California. But I cut up the seed stalks of E. gentianoides last year and have not seen a single seedling yet in my garden, though I'll continue to monitor the situation.

Two views of the Echium in front of a large Spanish olive oil urn, pictures taken yesterday. It is an unusual Echium as the leaves are not bristly hairy but smooth with a lovely silver-blue color and pinkish petioles and stems. It is very heat and drought tolerant here, though the plants go into a semi-dormant late summer phase, but come back quickly during the winter. According to Warren Roberts, superintendent of the UC Davis Arboretum, it comes from areas that receive snow, thus is hardier than many of the other echium. I do not know, however, what the bottom line is for temperatures, as our Calistoga garden is amazingly mild with no freezes in 3 years.

I originally bought 3 plants, two are this rich deep blue while one is paler, but still an excellent color. I believe they are currently all seed grown, so some variability is to be expected - so if you come across it, buy several. Also can be ordered from Annie's website, http://www.anniesannuals.com/.

The botanical species name, gentianoides, refers to the rich blue flower color that is simiar to that commonly found in the genus, Gentiana, or gentian. Gentians are often plants of mountain meadows and are noted for their deep blue flower color, gentian-blue often being used as a color name.

First Flowers Fill Fervent Feelings For Fresh Future

I think every gardener faces this dilemma; plant for now or plant for later. Most do both of course, but if there’s just that one spot left, what will go in it? Will it be a baby-blue eyes (Nemophila menziesii) for its delightful blue and white flowers making me smile for the next two months only to die, or will it be a penstemon, perhaps flowering this summer, but maybe not even until the following season? It is at this early time of the year, just as the low elevation California landscape has begun to wake up and grow, that I find myself almost desperate for some floral sign that renewal is on its way. Although there will be far more flowers in late March and April, more diversity and more amazing masses and mixes of colors and scents, it is the first wildflowers each season that mark my personal internal calendar and affect me the most. The first shooting star (Dodecatheon hendersonii), buttercup (Ranunculus californica), toothwort (Cardamine californica), hound’s tongue (Cynoglossum grande), Indian warrior (Pedicularis densiflora), checker lily (Fritillaria affinis) or scarlet larkspur (Delphinium nudicaule) hits me with an intense physical pang of pleasure. Even if I’m alone, I gasp and then the phrase, “Oh look, the first shooting star!” inevitably escapes my lips. This reassurance, that in spite of the desperate economy, or a multitude of personal problems, things are on track, everything will be alright, is so gratifying, that it is hard not to smile. It is one of those “Now” moments, when all past and future concerns have receded to the wonder of the present.

Ceanothus ‘Berkeley Skies’ in mid February in Calistoga. The soft lilac coloration is hard to capture against the background, but is not missed by the hundreds of honey bees that comb its every flower. In the garden, it is the same craving that attracts me to the earliest flowering bulbs, shrubs, annuals or perennials. To have a ceanothus burst into flower in late January or February is relentlessly energizing, a denial of the cold, rain (or lack of it), wind, or general dullness of the season. Here in my Calistoga garden, the first is always the lovely selection called Ceanothus ‘Berkeley Skies’, a seedling that appeared in the UC Botanical Garden (UCBG) in Berkeley back in the 80’s. I have always assumed its parentage was most likely a hybrid between big-pod ceanothus (C. megacarpus) a very early white flowering species from Southern California, and glory bush (C. gloriousus), a later blue-lilac flowering species of Northern California. Whatever its true parentage may be, it is a beauty, with very early pale lilac-blue flowers with a deeper black center on a large, vase-shaped shrub with small oval or teardrop shaped leathery leaves, often with minute teeth on the margins. Given its purported parentage, it can likely become a small tree to 15’, but most ceanothus are of limited longevity, and 10 to 15 years would be its expected life span, though twice that would not be surprising. Ceanothus ‘Berkeley Skies’ showing close to true soft-lilac coloration and deep purple-black center in this close up. The color shows up very well in cloudy or rainy weather. I know of UCBG at Berkeley propagating this shrub for its plant sales, and Cal Flora Nursery of Fulton, CA run by Sherrie Althouse and Phil Van Soelen.

First flower scape of Muscari macrocarpum, mid January; note second scape emerging on right. Another winner in my garden is a lovely bulb from Greece and SW Turkey currently called Muscari macrocapum ‘Golden Fragrance’. I’m not sure if the cultivar name, ‘Golden Fragrance’, is any different than the species and I suspect it is just to give the catalogue descriptions more “sex appeal”, but regardless it is now one of my favorite bulbs in the garden. I first saw it about 10 years ago when it was quite rare in the nursery trade, and assumed at the time that it must be very hard to grow, but I was mistaken. I grew it in my Berkeley CA garden, then in our Sebastopol, CA garden, and now in our Calistoga garden, but it is only here that I’ve used it in mass – as the price of bulbs came down significantly in recent years. It is a winter bulb in our climate, starting to show foliage in December and flowering in mid-January, and will continue at least into late March. It loves our summer-dry climate, but also does well in beds with routine water. In fact it has come up in every spot I’ve planted it from sun to light shade (deciduous and evergreen trees), rock, gravel, garden soil, clay. It has pushed up through 6” of compact mulch, dense grassy meadows, or open soils. And, unlike so many other bulbs that we waste our money on, it comes back dependably, increasing slowly, and each division flowers (unlike many Muscari that multiply excessively but produce mostly foliage). It produces large, puffy and ruffled triangular seed capsules (macrocarpum or big pod) that can be of visual interest in and of themselves, but so far none of these have germinated spontaneously. The foliage is also large compared to many Muscari and is a pleasant grayish color.

Muscari macrocarpum in mid-February with second set of flowering scapes. Another sequence will follow into March. Sometimes called the yellow flowered muscari or grape-hyacinth, it is actually a complex color, starting off a dull bluish purple and then quickly changing to a chartreuse-yellow in primary flower. In some light the greenish cast becomes apparent, but in full sun mostly yellow comes through. It reminds me of some of the S. African Lachenalias in coloration. While noticeable, it is more subtle than many bulbs, but is lovely in detail. But its biggest plus – and I would grow it even if the flowers were 1/10th the size or brown – is its intense sweet fragrance. I’ve planted drifts throughout the garden (as mentioned in nearly every spot I could think of) as wafts of the fragrance fill the winter air on still days and even days of mild breezes. You loose track of the number of times you stop whatever you are doing to say to yourself, “What a lovely fragrance!” You don’t even have to be near the plants, the fragrance just drifts around. Unlike paper-white Narcissus, it has none of the chemical smell that makes some folks gag. The fragrance is clean and sweet, reminding me of Daphne or hyacinth, potent yet pleasant. And the flowers appear in a sequence over many weeks, so it’s not one of those one-shot wonders like tulips. For me, the first flowers appeared in mid-January and there are new flowering scapes in flower now near mid-March. The flowers held up excellently both in our dry January and our rainy February. And the flowers do not wilt if picked as an entire stem, even left out of water. But its ease of culture, persistence, mid-winter flowering, and incredible fragrance make it a winner for me. It has also done extremely well in containers, tolerating summer dryness (just stacked up) and has come back better each season. Definite a four star marvel for our area. The bulb is available from almost all the bulb companies.

Muscari macrocarpum coming up under a grove of foothill pine (Pinus sabinian), a most inhospitable spot for most plants.