August Beauty

I can't let summer pass without featuring my favorite flower, the gardenia.  White flowers always emanate such quiet elegance, but gardenias seem to rise above the others into a class of their own.  


Gardenias are romantic, fragrant, graceful flowers.  They are also very delicate and notoriously difficult to keep healthy.  I decided to attempt cultivating this flower shortly after we moved into our house.  I planted 3 small gardenia bushes 2 years ago, and 2 more last year.  The variety?  Gardenia Jasminoides ('August Beauty').  Each of the plants cost less than $7, so I figured that I wasn't throwing too much money away if it all didn't work out.  The plants were truly a bit scrawny, and although I knew gardenias had the potential to become very large shrubs, I truly didn't think my gardening skills would be able to take the plants very far.  Sometimes, it seems as though weeds are the only plants on our property that can rapidly grow to full size.

It did, however, work out.  Wonderfully.  My gardenias have exploded in growth and have truly become the pièce de résistance of my entire gardening effort.  They've overwintered well and have responded nicely to a spring trimming for two years in a row now.  Each summer they provide gorgeous, scented blooms. 

I feel as though I could easily begin to brag here about my accomplishment in keeping such a finicky flowering shrub alive.   The fact is -- I wish I could take credit for their lush, healthy growth, but I can't.  I have very little idea why they are so very healthy.  A big part of it has been pure luck.  Yes, I've done my best to promote their growth, but I've done that with all of my plants and haven't always achieved the same result (in fact, I rarely achieve the same result).  In case you are interested in trying your hand in growing these lovely plants, here are my best guesses about the contributing factors that I believe may have played a role in this success:

Pest control.  The biggest problem I've encountered with my gardenias has been, not surprisingly, bugs.  Yes, white flies are real, and if you have a gardenia, they will come.  Try looking up the phrase "problem with gardenias" in Google, and you will immediately find questions and concerns about the white fly.  I'm not sure how much of a true threat those annoying little bits of flying fuzz pose to the plants, but I've eliminated them (each time, temporarily) with a spray bottle of water and a little bit of Ivory soap.  I can't completely keep them away, but I make an attempt to reduce their numbers.  In truth, the gardenias have usually looked healthy with and without the white flies, so I'm not certain how much I am helping.   I also rid my gardenias of an infestation of thrips once, using a mixture of Ivory soap, water, cayenne pepper, and garlic.  The thrips did have a devastating effect on the gardenia blooms -- they tended to eat them from the inside out, before the flowers had a chance to open.  Regular mulching and trimming nearby weeds has also helped eliminate the thrip population.

Humidity.  This factor may not be within your control, unless you have a greenhouse.  Gardenias respond very well to humidity.  The hottest, thickest, stickiest (and in my opinion, most miserable) summer weather will cause gardenias to rapidly add to their height and depth.  The healthiest growth seems to appear in those hot summer months, and the leaves turn that satisfyingly deep green.  Personally, I am not sure that gardenias can't survive without humidity, but realize that, if you do not live in a climate that yields summer moisture as regularly as the produce section of the grocery store, your gardenias may not grow as quickly as you may expect.  I've read that attempts to spray water onto the plants with a spray bottle cannot mimic the natural humidity on which gardenias thrive, and may in fact contribute to the growth of unwanted fungus.

Location.  I chose to plant my gardenias underneath the bay window in the front of our house.  My original idea was that, once the plants flowered, I would be able to open the windows to breathe in the delicious aroma of their blooms.  (That hasn't quite worked out -- see my notes on humidity above.)  Their location next to the house and underneath the protruding window gives them just a little additional protection from cold weather.  Gardenias are not fond of winter.  My gardenias have survived several light snowfalls, but they rarely have to endure a night below 15° F.  If you live in a chilly climate, you may need to bring your gardenia indoors for the winter, or cover it for a little additional protection for those nights that get very far below freezing.  Also, my gardenias also receive full morning and evening sun, with just a little bit of sun in the early afternoon.  They are, however, protected from the sun during the most glaringly hot portion of the day.   

The gardenia flower turns brown very quickly and easily -- even the simple touch of a human hand can leave oils on the bloom that will turn it brown.  Perhaps that adds to the flower's exotic appeal.  The blooms on my plants are also frequently hidden among the lush branches and leaves -- my plants do not obviously showcase their little white gems.  Rushing past these plants will not allow one to appreciate their presence.  They may want us to slow down when we walk by -- to take a deep breath, and draw in their aromatic August beauty.     

Grand Lady

The final bud on our magnolia tree is opening.  It signifies the culmination of a long and delightful season of magnolia blossoms.  I feel a little bit like I do while I'm watching a good film -- conscious that it's about to end, and perhaps a bit sad that it will, but satisfied with the experience.

Magnolia trees are extraordinarily exotic to me.   They are, after all, among the most primitive of plant forms.  (Unsurprisingly, I've always imagined the Garden of Eden with magnolia trees.)  I grew up in a forest, surrounded by pine and birch trees.  I loved it -- the trees provided a protective playground, giving us shelter from the sun, wind, or rain showers.  Their branches showed off winter's snowy delights, and, ultimately, they gave us firewood and warmth.   None of them, however, held the power to dramatically unfold such a huge, showy flower.  For years, I wanted a magnolia tree.  As soon as I lived in a climate that could sustain a magnolia tree, I couldn't wait to get one.  Three years ago, when my husband and I became homeowners, my parents bought us a magnolia tree as a house-warming gift.

She was perfect.  We settled on a slightly smaller variety, rather than the stately and towering Southern Magnolia.  We chose the "Kay Parris" variety, instead, which is more compact than its larger relative, but produces blooms at an earlier age.  We placed her in a prominent location in the front corner of our lawn, replacing two scrubby, half-dead barberry bushes and a misshaped sand cherry tree, which we moved to separate locations. (The sand cherry tree sprang to life and recovered its shape and dignity; the barberry bushes, unfortunately, did not.)  Instantly, she added a little class to the place.

When she begins to bloom, typically in mid-May, it is with such dramatic movement that it's almost as though she is aware of my anticipation.  She holds each bud out from her branches like a delicate white fist teasingly folded around a treat.  For weeks, I slow down each day as I back out of the driveway on the way to work, checking to see if that might be the day that I will arrive home to a brilliant, white, open bloom.  If I miss it, it'll be too late; the peak only lasts a day at the most -- if I find the bloom too late, the edges will have browned, and ants, bees and beetles will have already begun their clean-up work.    

A bud opens slowly at first, as though hesitant to reveal its full splendor. However, after they've begun to separate, the petals (and sepals) rapidly unfurl, like long white fingers stretching out in the sun after a long winter chill.  The seeds are released, the insects gather for their nectar feast, and the flower's beauty ends quickly.  

She is still young, but each year, including this spring, this tree has never opened more than one bud at a time.  She seems to deliberately deliver her performance with maximum effect, allowing each flower to receive the audience's full attention and admiration before moving to the next.

Therefore, as I take a last look at this year's final magnificent blossom, I give the grand lady her moment in the spotlight.  I am already looking forward to next year's event.