Darling Dahliettas

Dahliettas are the "darlings" of my September garden. Barely a foot tall, they pop with color just when color is most appreciated. Mums and asters seem to be the traditional favorites, but I've not had great luck with them. I find that mums are challenged to survive the winter and asters too often succumb to mildew or unsightly stems. Dahlietta's are not usually found as pre-packaged tubers like regular dahlias are (in plastic bags with sawdust with the pretty picture stapled to it). They are sold as annual bedding plants and I suppose most people treat them as just that. I was speaking to a salesperson of such annuals at a local garden center this summer and launched a discussion of the dahlietta. She said with great sympathy for me in her eyes, "Oh, honey, those aren't the kind that can be dug up and replanted, you're thinking of the dahlia." Sometimes salespeople can be wrong. All of the dahlietta's pictured here were purchased as annuals last year, tubers dug up, replanted this Spring, and are now reaching their peak of bloom.

When I first grew dahliettas, determined to save my darlings I researched the method carefully. I followed a tedious list of steps. Cut back before the frost, cover the cut stems with aluminum foil, dry for ____ days, remove foil, dig up, dry for ____ more days on a tarp, layer in a tub with a recipe of ingredients and moisture. When I delved into the tub in the spring, there were alas, NO SURVIVORS.

But give up on dahliettas? NO!

Last year I simply cut them back after frost, dug the tubers, shook the dirt off, threw them in a kitty litter bucket, covered them with peat moss and wished them a good winter. It took half an hour. When I tentatively dumped the bucket out this Spring they were already showing green shoots, so eager were they to be planted. I'll be an optimist this year, go a step further and label the colors. That way that nice orange one will be sure to be placed next to my purple heliotrope. Mwah!!

Division Woes

It is rare for me to come in from a gardening chore with a scowl on my face, but yesterday's task was just cause - the challenging division of two perennials that are, well, resistant to division. The grey foliage of my Dianthus "Baths Pink" had formed a HUGE, low sprawling mat. Lovely during its two week bloom, but for the rest of the season the foliage monopolizes 12 square feet that could potentially be shared with another pretty blossom or two. Likewise, the softer, grey foliage of Cerastium (Snow in the Summer)had sprawled far beyond its intended space.

Most of my perennials can be divided by my easiest method. I position the shovel over an outgrowth of the basal foliage, throw all of my weight into one big jump onto the shovel, apologize to the mother plant for the intrusion, and walk away with the division ready to plunk into a prepared hole. Works great for everything from Astilbe to Veronia. Occasionally I need to dig up the entire plant and do my shovel-jumping aerobics out on the lawn, then replant divisions, tossing out the tired center. But neither method suits these pretty little troublemakers. The sprawling foliage rests atop the soil far away from the strong center of the plant. Oh, it tries to send down new rootlets beneath the sprawl, but those are precarious at best. Yesterday I looked for healthy chunks in each mat, stabbed the shovel in with gusto, removed the chunk with PLENTY of soil not daring to look to see if it was even attached. I ran each to its new hole as if I was an organ transplant doctor, watered well, and just hoped it would be forced to send down new roots before death overcame it. Today the dianthus mother plant looks shocked, traumatized, as if it has suffered a very bad haircut (I know the feeling). The new divisions of the cerastium look wilted, brown and equally traumatized. But days are shorter now, cooler, and as I type this I'm listening to a steady rain. I know that Mother Nature is giving the best medicine to these poor victims of my well intended division. Cheers to the beginning of the season of great division.

Daylily Delight

On May 7 of this year I posted a sad picture of the early daylily fans . At least two thirds of them were afflicted with "Spring Sickness," no known cause, no known cure. I held fast to hope throughout early summer that what I read was true - the affliction is not fatal to the plant. It was hard to imagine anything remotely pretty springing forth from the damaged vegetation in that picture. But my faith was rewarded. The plants did eventually shrug off the cruel twist to their vanity and put forth a nice display. Without a doubt, the daylily bed is the object of my greatest obsession. I remember a picture in my high school Biology textbook. It was of Gregor Mendel standing by his trellises of peas, notebook in the crook of his arm, looking so absorbed that the earth could have swallowed him up and he wouldn't have blinked (I know the look), documenting data on his charts and probably losing sleep over the mysteries of genetics. In July I feel such a one-ness with Gregor!!

And here is what is in the crook of my arm. At the top is the three year old map on graph paper, so worn and crumpled it is like old linen. On the left is a detailed description of each of 29 varieties. On the right are pictures to match each description. I stuff them all on my clipboard on daily basis in July and head out the door to record data, compare, change descriptive words, shuffle pictures, edit the map. Any of my kids who visit in July and witness this can't resist mocking me. ("Oh no, she's doing it again. Could someone bring her in?"). But I find the process so oddly soothing. If I could bottle the feeling I would have Gardener's Valium. If I could apply it to my basement, I would be able to walk through that area unobstructed. When we had our initial landscaping installed, "Jason the Nursery Man" may have grown weary of my barrage of questions when he finally said not unkindly," Don't forget to just sit and enjoy the garden." Good advice. And as I sit at the computer and turn my head over my left shoulder, I can see my daylilies and I am enjoying them. But the wheels start turning and I think, "I really need a backdrop.... I wonder about a white picket fence........