Fall Planting Tips

Fall is the best time of year to plant most trees and shrubs. Usually temperatures are cool, but not too cold for root growth, and rainfall is plentiful: the perfect conditions for new roots to form and plants to become established. In addition, many garden centers get in a fresh batch of plants, so you might find that particular tree or shrub that was sold out when you looked for it in the spring.

 It is important to give roots a good place to spread out, so when you plant, dig your hole wide but not too deep. Wide is usually defined as 2 or 3 times the size of the container your plant came in. Just as important, don't dig the hole too deep. You want the plant to rest in the hole slightly above the level that it was growing in the container. If you over-estimate how deep the hole should be and have to back fill, remember that the loosened soil underneath the plant will settle, lowering the plant in the hole. You may want to compensate for the settling by planting a bit higher. The depth of the hole is important because Memphis soil generally contains a lot of clay, and clay soil equals poor drainage. 

After you've dug your hole there is a big temptation (at least, this is true for me) to add soil conditioner, compost, or other amendments to encourage those roots to reach out into the soil and help the plant off to a good start. Plant scientists have learned that this is the opposite of what actually happens. Adding organic matter creates a difference in the texture of the soil in the hole and the surrounding native soil. This difference causes problems with water movement, as well as encourages roots to grow in a circular pattern in the amended soil rather than spreading out into the native soil. Just think about what roots do when they bump against an obstacle like the edge of a flower pot (or hard clay soil) : they take the path of least resistance and just circle around in that soft, amended soil you provided. So you want to create a more hospitable environment by loosening the native soil in a wide area, but resist the urge to add amendments.

Also, it is a good idea to check the root ball after you remove the plant from the container. If the plant has been growing in the container for a while, the roots may be crowded together in the pot. In this case, you may want to tease the roots apart with your hands to encourage them to spread out in the planting hole. If the plant has been in the container for a long time, the roots may be pressed together in a thick mass. In this case, you'll need to be ruthless about spreading the roots. You may even need to use a knife to score through the root ball. Cutting circling roots encourages the plants to send out new roots, and these new roots will have a better chance of growing into the native soil.

Roots that grow in a circular pattern around the plant, sometimes referred to as "girdling roots" can, over the course of years, actually strangle and kill an otherwise healthy plant. Sometimes this condition results from improper planting, and sometimes we inherit the problem from the garden center where we bought our plant. Case in point, consider the picture below. I came across this small tree last week, one in a group of newly-planted trees. My guess is that they were planted this past spring, as most of the trees still had the nursery tag on them. Notice the root encircling the trunk. This will prove to be disastrous over time.

What to do about this condition? At a minimum, the encircling root should be clipped so that it can't continue to encircle the tree. But this root makes wonder what condition the rest of the root ball is in. Since this is a small tree and appears to be planted fairly recently, I would dig it up and inspect the root ball. I'm guessing other problems may exist and could be corrected now. If no corrections are needed, little or no damage will be done by digging it up and replanting it, as long as it is well-watered through the fall.

Speaking of watering, this fall's strange, hot and dry weather conditions mean that you need to be extra vigilant about watering. Newly planted trees and shrubs have a small root system so they need regular, frequent waterings. This fall, mother nature has not been helping us out much with watering.

Click here for a short University of Tennessee Extension fact sheet on planting.

Camellia Fruit

Our fall-blooming camellia (Camellia sasanqua 'Winter's Joy') is loaded with buds this year, and I am eagerly awaiting the first sign of color. Last year, the first buds began to open in mid-to-late October. I always hope for an early bloom (or a late frost) so that I can enjoy the blooms before they get hit by a killing freeze.

While I was watering this camellia today (will this drought EVER end?), I noticed something I have not seen in the past: fruit. I had never heard of camellia bearing fruit (you experienced camellia growers out there probably have), so I looked it up on the internet. Sure enough, they sometimes do. Here's what the fruit (seed pods) look like.

This particular seed pod has already begun to ripen and has taken on a red color. Most others on this bush are still green. Apparently, if allowed to mature, these seed pods will burst open, exposing the seeds inside. 

Now, you are probably wondering whether these seed pods produce viable seeds. According to my research, the answer is yes, but since this camellia is a hybrid, the characteristics of the offspring are not predictable. Chances are, its offspring would not be as desirable as the parent plant. So I wondered if I should pick off these fruits so that the plant's energy would be redirected to the plant rather than these unwanted fruit. Some sites I found suggested that I should, but there are not a lot of these seed pods (a dozen or maybe a few more), and I wonder whether the plant would reap much benefit from my removing them. Besides, I'm curious to see how they develop. So I think I will leave these on the plant.

While researching the seed pods, I came across several sites that said some people like to remove some of the developing flower buds to increase the size of the remaining flowers. It seems that the plant must use a lot of energy to support many buds and if some those buds are removed, all that energy is directed to the remaining flowers. This makes sense and I've heard of people doing this with other flowers, for example, roses.

But these buds will be opening very soon so I wonder if it is too late for this strategy. It may be that the remaining bud would not have time to benefit from the additional energy available from removing the competing buds. Besides, I think I might enjoy having many small flowers more than a fewer number of large ones.

On the other hand, this camellia certainly has a lot of buds and it may be that simply removing a few would allow the others more physical room to spread out more. The scientist in me is curious. I think I will select a few bud clusters to experiment with, like the cluster on the left side of this picture. I'll chose a bud cluster like this one and remove all but one of the buds. Then I'll choose a second similarly-sized cluster of buds to use as the "control." It will be interesting to see if removing the competing buds results in any appreciable difference in the size of the bloom. Of course, I'll never know what would have happened if I had removed the competing buds when they first formed. Maybe that's an experiment for next year.

Colocasia gigantea 'Thailand Giant'

Last year I bought a large species of elephant ear (Colocasia gigantea 'Thailand Giant' ) at my favorite local nursery and when fall came, I lifted the bulb for winter storage. Thai Giant is an enormous variety of elephant ear that is rated for zone 8b so chances are prettty good that the bulb will freeze in our area if left in the ground. Last winter it lived in our garage.

This spring I decided to plant it in a large pot for the summer. It did very well in the pot (although I probably didn't fertilize it as much as it needed), and it bloomed several times over the summer. 

Here is a closer look of the interior of the plant. You can see the three old bloom stalks with pod-like structures that must contain the seeds.

Several weeks ago, I discovered a tiny elephant ear coming up in the iris bed,and it appears to be an offspring of the Thai Giant. I've read that this type of elephant ear can be propagated by seed and that it is self-pollinating but I didn't know it would re-seed by itself. 

Now I'm wondering whether I can grow some more from these seed pods, but I've got a feeling this may be one of those lucky happenstances that I could not accomplish by plan. I might give it a try anyway. This is the only elephant ear I've ever grown that has propagated by seed.

Click here for an article on how to grow elephant ears from seed. 

Fall Watering

After a too-wet spring, we're now in a too-dry period in our neighborhood. (I say "in our neighborhood" because other neighborhoods have had rain that we did not get in the last month.) Although the temperatures have cooled a bit, it's easy for plants to get too dry, especially if they were planted in the spring. 

Take this poor dogwood that I spotted while walking the dog this morning. I noticed a few days ago that it was looking limp, and this is what is looked like this morning--a severe case of drought stress. I wonder whether this poor guy is going to make it, even if the owner starts watering it.

Seeing how quickly this tree deteriorated reminded me to check my own recently-planted trees for signs of drought stress. While I didn't plant any trees this spring, I did plant one last fall, and it takes more than one year for trees to develop a good root system. Although I don't water them quite as much in the second year, I consider them to be "newly-planted" trees until they have been in the ground for at least two full years.

This is what my own kousa dogwood looked like when I checked it this morning. These brown spots on the leaves are probably a combination of drought stress and leaf scorch. Shortly after we planted this tree, the next door neighbor took out a large maple tree, which resulted in a period of afternoon sun. The extra heat and sun means that this dogwood needs more water than it otherwise would. I put out a dripping hose and gave it a long, slow watering.

Last fall I planted a red Japanese maple in this same general area of the garden. It is in a somewhat shadier location so sun scald is not as much of a problem. I've kept an eye on it during the dry spells and it is faring well. You can see a little drought stress on the very tips of the leaves. It got a good soaking today, too.

The weatherman is calling for a chance of rain early next week, but if your garden is like mine, some plants, even some already-established plants, are thirsty. And don't let those cooler temperatures in the forecast lull you into thinking that coolness equals moisture. As long as it is dry, watering continues to be important for some plants, even into fall.

Canna Alert!

One of the great joys of Memphis summers is the lengthy blooming season, and from May into fall, my yellow canna (Canna ‘Ra’) offer a majestic six-foot splash of color at the southwest corner of my front porch.  They are tall enough to offer some shade for mophead hydrangeas stressed by late afternoon sun.  The canna may have been spreading there for decades.   Early this summer, when the canna seemed most thriving, I thinned one section, transplanting some plants to the alley and others to pots for the Master Gardeners' Spring Fling plant sale.  Other plants in the front lawn had suffered in recent years:  the gorgeous pomegranate tree (death by borer), the gardenia (near murder after a cold winter), azaleas (die back), and the large crepe myrtle (scale, of course).  I rejoiced in my seemingly indestructible canna, so tough a specimen that it was once called “cast iron plant.”

But alas, as the poet says, “nothing gold will stay.”  By July, the many colorful blooms could not hide a growing disfiguration of the foliage.  The edges of unfurled leaves were stuck together forming brown stalks frequently bent at an angle from the tall stem.

Manny Pailet, Greenhouse Manager at the Memphis Botanic Garden, diagnosed the problem easily by unrolling one of the leaves and exposing a worm amidst a thick layer of black worm feces (or more technically, frass).  My canna had become infested by the lesser canna leafroller, the most common canna pest.  This yellowish caterpillar feeds inside rolled leaves tied with short silken threads.  It doesn’t kill the plants, but it certainly makes them unsightly, and the evidence is all over town.  For pictures of the moth and worm, click here.  

So I looked into ways to control or eliminate the leafrollers.  I sprinkled a bit of Sevin on a few of the infected leaves, but knew it couldn’t penetrate to where the worms were and also that it was toxic to many beneficial insects. Those leaves have remained healthy, however.  Manny suggested a thuricide concentrate, which he had used at the Botanic Garden.  This product contains a naturally occurring bacterium and is applied as a spray and works by causing target pests not to feed, so they starve. I admit that the main reason I chose not to use this product was I would have to purchase a sprayer and mix the product myself. Although it is advertised not to kill non-target insects such as honeybees and other pollinators, I was also reluctant to use a spray so close to other blooming plants covered with bees and butterflies.  I wasn't yet convinced of its safety.


Responding to my preference to avoid a spray, Urban Earth recommended a Tree & Shrub Systemic Insect Drench, which contains an imidacloprid compound related to the systemic I was using for crepe myrtle scale.  Hoping for similar results, I poured this mixture around the canna roots in several beds.  It wasn't until later that I realized imidacloprid is in the class of pesticides known as neonicotinoids which are highly toxic to all insects.  Maybe I should have used the thuricide!

Further research confirmed this conclusion.  Extension agents generally recommend the biological insecticide containing Bacillus thuringiensis (Bt) for the very good reason that it is least toxic to beneficial insects. This product promises to work well to manage not only the canna leafroller but also other destructive worms and caterpillars. Moreover, it should have no effect on earthworms, birds, honeybees, and ladybugs.  I found several brands of Bt at Dan West Garden Center in various formulations: as a dust (like Sevin), as a concentrate (which Manny had used), and as a ready-to-use spray.  I chose the ready-to-use spray as simplest for me to use.

In mid-September, the adult leafrollers (small moths) were still visible flying around the canna, searching for the best spot to lay their eggs, so I decided not to delay spraying the plants. I shook the container well, both before I started spraying and throughout the process.  My goal was to spray all surfaces, above and below and especially down and around any curling or already curled leaves.

It is too soon to report results, but I am hopeful that the lesser canna leafrollers will be done in by the double whammy of a systemic application and an insecticide spray.  I know I will have to spray again, perhaps weekly, but I am not relying on chemicals alone.  Whenever I deadhead, I also remove blighted foliage and, I hope, the worm within.  Because my canna were so thick, they may have been more susceptible to infestation, so I will continue to thin and clear out the dense areas.  A necessary part of management of the leafroller is cutting down and disposing of dead canna plants in winter since the pupae overwinter in this material. When my plants die back this winter, I will undertake a major cleanup.  And next spring when the plants emerge, I will be watchful and ready to spray before the leafrollers take over.

And, of course, I will not take canna to the Spring Fling plant sale.

Inheriting a Garden: Lesson Learned

Perhaps as a new blogger, I should provide followers of Garden Musings a brief introduction. There are gardeners who are so knowledgeable and experienced that I see them almost like presiding deities of horticulture, and I dream that someday I will be among their ranks. Yet my delight in gardening is frequently offset either by ignorance or by thoughtless action or inaction, and to be truthful, making these mistakes is how I learn. Writing about my garden experiences is likely to be confessional, as is the case in this first blog, and I hope that readers can find something useful if not entertaining in my learning experiences.

In December 2012 I moved into a a century-old midtown house with a beautifully landscaped backyard. Now, most people unpacking boxes, moving furniture around, and worrying about window treatments would simply rejoice that the outside was taken care of. But I knew me and my propensity to find a way to mess up what someone had paid to beautify. After all, hadn’t I, in a former life, allowed Russian cyprus to run wild over and beyond the natural areas it should have been confined to? doomed peonies by planting them too deep? destroyed any joy of a herb garden by putting it in shade? drowned a weigila by planting it in the only hole I could dig in that sloping backyard? You get the idea. I feared with such beauty now my own, I was surely on the verge of discovering new ways to uglify. My mantra became WAIT AND SEE. It has taken me a few years to figure out that “Do No Harm” is not the same thing as “Do Nothing.”

On jaunts around the circular lawn (maybe 1/3 of my .18 acre lot), with a dog or two in tow, by early spring I had catalogued the perennials in the beds stretching back to the wood fence on the west and south and up to the carport on the east and patio to the north. Autumn fern nestled among boxwood, azaleas, and spirea. Lorapetalum provided colorful purple splotches on either side of the lawn. A large fig tree leafed out over a ground cover of Dutch iris and periwinkle major. A weeping Japanese maple, althea, crepe myrtles, nandinas. and witch hazel were spaced around the lawn. A row of Ocala anise, Virginia creeper and forsythia lined the back fence. Wild cherry and mystery vines grew in and up the fences.

Over the next few years, I sat in the backyard and luxuriated in my tidy little property, my Eden. Four hosta varieties had emerged, along with Solomon seal and a beautiful orange honeysuckle which draped the arbor in the back corner and reached over to cascade down the fence. My additions to the display were modest at first. Petunias and lantana in pots brought color where a sunbeam penetrated the deep shade of the overarching oak tree next door. Giant coleus sparkled in beds with dappled shade. Later, empty spaces vanished under an Anabelle hydrangea, new ferns, varied hostas, bright caladium, giant elephant ears and more.

I’m not sure when it happened, but one day I looked out the kitchen window and saw not a neat garden of beautiful and varied plants, but a jungle of crowded foliage with plants fighting for survival. The fig tree, which had never borne a fig, branched over the middle of the lawn. The lorapetalum had become scraggly trees overlooking fences, and one of them was seriously challenging the space allotted to the witch hazel. The arbor in the far corner was hidden behind a lorapetalum and massive nandina. Dead limbs were hanging from the oak tree. And that was only the most visible evidence of riot. 

My new mantra became CONTROL! I hired tree trimmers to clean up the dead branches and thin the oak canopy. I whacked the fig tree almost flat and lopped the nandina to a civilized size. This winter, I will seriously prune the lorapetalum so that again I have full purple shrubs to enjoy. There is more pruning ahead, but eventually I imagine once again sitting in the backyard enjoying my tidy space, only this time taking care, occasionally, to maintain its beauty.

Goodbye to a Gardener

My mother was born in 1930 and grew up on her family's farm in Tipton County. Her next door neighbor and lifelong best friend, Evelyn, was born in 1928 on a nearby farm. Farms in those days were not the mega-businesses they are now, but were usually small and provided both homes and livelihoods to the families that lived on them. 

Both my grandfather and Miss Evelyn’s father raised cotton or soybean crops that put a little money in the bank, grew corn to feed the cows and hogs that put meat on the table, and worked vegetable gardens that provided nearly everything else they ate. Both my mother and Miss Evelyn were well-versed in “putting up” vegetables for the winter, canning and freezing.

After they grew up and married, their fathers gave them a little piece of land on the family farms, and they built houses a stone’s throw from each other. Miss Evelyn’s house was on one little hill and our house was on the adjoining little hill. In between was a valley where Miss Evelyn planted her vegetable garden. Both she and my mother enjoyed flowers and grew what they could plant from seed or acquire from cuttings from someone else’s garden. In those days, you could stop by a stranger’s house and ask for a cutting from a rosebush in their yard and they would happily oblige.

A number of years ago, my mother transplanted a few rose campion (Lychnis coronaria) seedlings from Miss Evelyn’s garden, and when Jack and I moved to Germantown, I got a few plants from mama’s garden. It is one of my favorite plants, easy to care for with a lovely color that really brightens our garden. Garden plants connect us to people in a way that nothing else can, and I treasure this rose campion as one of only a few plants I have from my mother’s garden. 

Although my mother and Evelyn did not remain next door neighbors all their lives, they did remain friends, both in good times and bad, supporting each other through the deaths of their husbands, the deaths of children, and all the other losses that life brings. My mother is in a nursing home now, suffering from dementia and a variety of health problems. Miss Evelyn passed away last weekend.

Mama still remembers her friends and family, but the world they inhabit in her mind does not exist in 2016. So I decided not to tell her about the death of her friend and attended the funeral in her stead. The first song in the service was “Walking Alone in the Garden,” and the officiant spoke about Miss Evelyn's love of gardening. This made me remember that rose campion and the day mama and I admired it in Miss Evelyn's garden.

When the rose campion blooms next spring, I will think of not only my own mother, but the gardener from whose garden the plant originally came. We’ll miss you Miss Evelyn.