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The extraordinary Mr. Phil Savage

I have a big love for magnolias; I would have any and all of them, if I could.  I admire their big glossy leaves, and pale grey bark.  Most zone 5 hardy magnolias top out at 25 feet; they are a perfect tree for a small property.  Their spring flowers are strikingly large-and simply beautiful.  Some years our spring is so short they might be in bloom only a few days; I do not fault them for this.  Write a protest letter to Ms. Nature-should you have an inclination-but do not expect an answer.  Zone 5 gardeners-we ought to be used to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune-I am quoting Shakespeare here. No matter how many years in a row I would need to live through a late season killing frost, I would still plant magnolias.  Magnolias are so beautiful in every other regard, I have no problem recommending them.

Magnolia Stellata, or star magnolia, and the saucer magnolia, Magnolia Soulangiana, are common to my area. They, and their progeny and hybrids, grace many a spring landscape in my city.  Wada’s Memory, a hybrid of Magnolia Stellata, is a particularly beautiful white cultivar.  Ivory Chalice, bred by Dr Leach from the species Magnolia Denudata, is exceptionally striking in a good year.  It blooms early, and the blooming can be damaged by unexpected cold.  Should you have Ivory Chalice on your property this year, I am sure you are dancing with delight.  Plant this tree if you are a trouper gardener.  Do not plant this tree if you live by your expectations.

But by far and away, my favorite magnolia is Yellow Butterflies.  Bred by Phil Savage, a world renowned magnolia hybridizer, its fragrant pale yellow flowers are the best part of my spring landscape.   He lived on a large property right on Woodward Avenue in Bloomfield Hills for many years.  I met him in 1987 courtesy of Al Goldner, a noted landscape designer who mentored me for some years.  Al was very interested that any designer first and foremost needed to learn as much as possible about plants.  He was forever hauling his group to see this breeder, or that farm.  It was an education bordering on priceless; I understand that now.

I have no photographs of Phil Savage’s property, but I can describe it.  Magnolias towering at the better part of 50 feet tall were everywhere. Some were white, some were pink.  Others were peach, or yellow, or bordering on orange-colors I had never seen before.  Some trees with trunk calipers approaching 40 or 50 inches-magnolias grafted onto ash tree rootstock. The grafts were giant and incredibly sculptural.  Visiting his property was like visiting another planet. 

Just a few years ago, I visited his property again-courtesy of his niece-a client. He had passed away, and the property was for sale.  She thought I might like to see the magnolias in bloom.  What I saw there took my breath away.  A lifetime devoted to growing trees was in evidence everywhere. Magnolias, and more magnolias.  The size of his trees-like nothing I had ever seen. A giant forest of magnolias-imagine it. Most of these trees have never been introduced into commerce; the scientist and the dreamer had grown trees like I have never seen before or since.  The property is pure magic. 

The property was purchased from the family by a group intending to build a facility for the aged.  His niece was concerned that many of his trees would be felled, destroyed, in that process. I did have GP Enterprises, who successfully moves big trees, look at the property.  So many of the big trees were much too big to be moved. This was not so much comfort for her-she felt her Uncle’s work should be looked after, not cut down.  I was powerless to do anything-this felt so bad.

Phil Savage’s most beautiful and well-known cultivar-Butterflies.  This clear pale yellow flowering magnolia -I planted ten of them on either side of a walk to my back yard, and underplanted them with boxwood.  They have been in 6 years now; this spring their blooming is heavy and gorgeous.  A cross between the cucumber magnolia-Magnolia Acuminata, and Magnolia Denudata Sawada’s cream-it is exquisite in bloom, in leaf, in bark, and in habit. Every day for the last week, I pull up in front with the corgis in tow-and get out to take photographs. They lean out the rear window as if to ask-what are you up to?  I am up to trying to capture the color, the shape, the fragrance-all those things that defy recording.  No photograph could possibly do justice to how beautiful they are right now-come by if you can. 

I know I posted a few days ago about how I wish Detroit had a botanic garden, and that in the event I decided for the first time to buy a lottery ticket, and won, I would put that money towards a botanic garden for my city.  I could refine that dream.  The group that bought the property-they have no plans to build over Phil Savage’s magnolias right now; their project is on hold.  If I could, I would write them a check, and wave them off.  I would make a botanic garden-presided over by the most singular and amazing magnolia grove it has ever been my privilege to see.  I have my dreams, yes I do.


Wish me luck.

Posted on: April 22, 2010 16 Comments
Filed Under: Woody Plants, Garden Stories Tagged With: , , , , ,

Bloomin’ Beautiful


My yellow magnolias are close to being in full bloom.  Barring some disastrous overnight temperatures, they ought to be glorious in a few days.  The weather we have had the past month has been so unusual; I keep thinking it is May, not mid April.  In celebration of the mild spring, so many things are blooming all at once.  Cherries, crabs, magnolia, PJM rhododendron, Bradford pears-there is quite the symphony going on.  I know I am preaching to the choir to suggest there is no other time in a garden quite like spring, but I like encouraging people to look around them at a time when there is plenty to reward the seeing.

This crabapple is just coming into bloom-not so often do I see it flower in tandem with the forsythia.  This is the weather jam at work.  We are having much cooler temperatures at night now than we did some weeks ago.  When spring is good, it is very very good; everything in flower is going into the cooler at night.  This plays such a big role in a spring being of generous duration.  I doubt I would put pink and yellow together like this; I would guess the township or county planted this traffic island a long time ago.  But I am fine with rowdy and exuberant in the spring; this display seems entirely appropriate for the season.  

There are lots of little spring things that warrant attention.  This Matrix blue frost pansy mix is stellar.  They look like each basic white flower has been individually dressed up in purple watercolor.  It is a much more subtle look than a picotee, or variegated flower. I am convinced that the most valuable tool a gardener has at their disposal is the ability to envision.  There are different kinds of seeing.  Many things in my environment I see, but don’t see with understanding, appreciation, inspiration or thoughtfulness; this kind of seeing takes effort. 

The surfaces of these two pots play off one another; the shiny glaze is in distinct contrast to the rough creamy clay.  The yellows and limes seem all the more limey, given the purple pansies.  Massing a dark color, and placing it in front of a light color greatly adds to its visual impact.  The warm brown of the fountain is repeated in the centerpiece of the glazed pots.  The flower colors pop all the more, being placed with a group of objects.  No composition comes with a handbook.  It is a matter of taking the time to see what is there to be seen.

These flamed tulips are hard to miss, but none the less I have watched them sprout, bud, bloom, and mature.  The flowers opened a creamy yellow; it has taken a week or more for that cream base to go white.  Anyone thinking of planting white tulips for a spring wedding reception needs to choose the variety carefully, and study the timing. I try to keep track of what blooms when for exactly this reason.  Even so, spring weather can be so variable your best laid plans could make your tulips too early, or too late.  The visual idea here-white enlivens and intensifies the appearance of other colors.  If you plant tulips against a brick or stucco or stone surface, consider the color combination-it will be much more important than each color individually.

This planting in a old galvanized pan is one of Rob’s one act plays. The hyacinth bulbs are barely showing bud; he likes every stage of the development of a hyacinth bloom-not just the flower part.  The alyssum in full bloom gives those green leaves visually contrasting company.  Though the time will come that the hyacinths fade, its short life is still very sweet.  I am always amused when a client tells me they will not plant whatever-say lilacs-as the blooming is short.  Most things in nature are a one act play of one sort or another.  The blooming of the maples-almost over for this year. 

My hellebores are long lived, and have only gotten better with time.  Their flowers emerge, mature and fade over many weeks; each stage has its charms. At this stage, exquisite.


These aging clumps of Helleborus “Ivory Prince” I would not describe as exquisite-they are interesting in a moody , fugue-like way.  I like them at this very mature stage just as much as I like them young. 


It would be easy to walk by this hellebore stage act without truly seeing it.  As I am very busy with work this time of year, it is even easier to skip the seeing.  But I am indeed all the poorer when I miss what is going on right in front of me. 

 

Bloomin’ beautiful.

And more bloomin’ beautiful.

Posted on: April 21, 2010 4 Comments
Filed Under: Garden Design, Spring Tagged With: ,

Beloved Boxwood

 


I can think of few plants that have a better service record than my beloved boxwood.  Properly cared for, they are very long lived.  Old boxwoods have an aura of age which only adds to their beauty.  They demand little, and give much.  Few broadleaved evergreens can tolerate our cold winters.  Though our nurseries are stuffed with blooming Catawbiense hybrid rhododendron in the spring, it is a constant battle to keep them happy and healthy.  They simply like Philadelphia better than Detroit.  Ilex, kalmia and the like suffer here as well.  The boxwood-they thrive.  I plant the very hardy Buxus microphylla hybrid Green Velvet; the winter color is as richly green as the summer.      

This giant untrimmed ball of buxus microphylla koreana has lived in this French terra cotta pot for 5 years.  We wheel it into the garage for the winter-to protect the pot, not the boxwood.  The garage has neither light nor heat-not a problem.  In March we wheel it back outside for another season.  Boxwood can be quite hardy in pots or windowboxes outdoors all winter; the container needs to be frostproof, and the maintenance thoughtful. The buxus microphylla which forms the hedge outside my shop will take on an orangy-olive color in the winter; this winter color is typical.  The front of the shop is a southern exposure.  The hedge has been there 12 years, and has yet to burn over a winter. Most of the hybrids of boxwood hardy in zone 5 come from this species.

Buxus Sempervirens, commonly called European, or Southern box, is the boxwood variety of my dreams.  Lush and large growing, they adapt easily to any sculptural pruning you might dream up. They can grow to twenty feet tall.   If you have seen the boxwood planted by Beatrix Farrand at Dumbarton Oaks in Washington, you know how a boxwood planting can be sculpture.  Pruned into undulating cloud shapes, this planting is a showstopper.  I have seen this boxwood planted in ground in my zone, but a particularly vicious winter has the power to kill them. They are rated for zones 6-8; this rating means what it says. I therefore recommend using them in pots, and wintering them in an interior space. They only need an unheated space; you want them to go dormant, and only wake up when the worst of the winter is past. 

I rarely see boxwood topiary of size grown from a zone 5 hardy boxwood.  Boxwood is a relatively slow grower; it might take 7 years to get a cutting of Buxus Green Velvet” to 24″ tall. Boxwood in general are expensive.  Southern box grows faster in a mild climate, such as the Pacific northwest; they routinely flush growth twice there in a single season. As southern box is a big plant when mature, large scale topiaries such as these are usually grown from this variety.  A topiary this size, with a trunk caliper this large-very pricey.  But priceless in its return.  While it is an investment, your investment will grow and prosper over the years-what gardener could ask for more?   

This boxwood sphere with its attendant topknot/hairdo-what a great looking and very special plant.  You might grow topiary boxwood yourself from cuttings-it just takes years.  Any grower of nursery material-how incredibly patient they are. They can see the potential for a decently sized plant in a cutting.  But very large specimen boxwood such as these do not come along so often; most growers like to sell their material in a shorter time frame.  Now and then we will find a grower who has a love for growing unusually large or largely unusual plant material; these growers interest me. 


Boxwood is as happy in a supporting form as it is being the star of the show.  Their tolerance for clipping and shearing makes them an ideal formal evergreen hedging material, when a small hedge is desirable.  These large circular beds beds planted with tulips have a drama that would not be possible with tulips alone.  Their geometry and symmetry is an organizing metaphor for this particular garden.  The loose growing tulips have an excellent visual partner in the boxwood.

This is not to say boxwood is without its problems. The boxwood at the Chicago Botanic garden suffered terrible damage after last year’s winter-as the sign says. The boxwood in the front of my shop sustained damage much like this. In my case, huge snow loads, as well as freezing and thawing, weighed the plants down such that stems split, and allowed a fungal infection to invade.  Heartbreaking. 

These boxwood in my garden suffered similar damage-but I would not for one moment consider not growing them.  They are beautiful year round.  Gorgeous in growth.  Beautiful in the rain, or with fall leaves dusting their tops.  Beautiful as a topiary or a hedge.  Spectacular in pots.


They are a quietly handsome groundcover, under my Yellow Butterflies magnolias.   The day the petals fall to the boxwood-one of my favorite days of the gardening year.

Posted on: April 20, 2010 6 Comments
Filed Under: Woody Plants, Landscape Design Tagged With: , ,

Sunday Opinion: In Praise of Frivolity

Twenty years ago it would have been a routine fall to plant upwards of 30,000 bulbs for clients. At that time, I conducted my business from home-five acres in Orchard Lake, on a street full of five acre parcels.  I was no bother to my neighbors; our houses were far apart, and private.  The house was a wreck, but the property was beautiful-and big.  The boxes would arrive in late September, each with its big full color picture of what the brown and cream blob inside would become the following spring. Bulb planting is not exactly satisfying work.  You dig up the ground when everything else in the garden is going to sleep. When you are finished planting, all there is to see is the same dirt surface you started with.  It seems like the planting was always accompanied by cold, windy and generally inhospitable weather. It did not seem like planting at all-we were burying all manner of small objects that bore no resemblance to the living.  Bulbs may smell like they are alive, but the smell is not delicious like good soil, compost, dead leaves and worms.  The anemone blandas bulbs were so hard and shrivelled one could hardly imagine anything good could come from them.  These I would soak overnight before planting; there is nothing like adding the element of sopping wet to a cold gardening day. In short, there is nothing fun or festive about burying bulbs.  I would look at those pictures on the boxes every so often, just to reassure myself that eventually the work would come to something beautiful. 

 The small bulbs-species and hybrid crocus, eranthis, galanthus, species tulips, anemone blanda, chionodoxa, scilla and so on-I would plant by the hundreds at a time. They would come packaged in yellow netted bags of 10 bulbs each.  It was easy to hold 10 or better in one hand.  I shouldn’t complain-they are vastly larger and easier to pick up one at a time than most seeds.  The investment of time to get all these nut like objects a few inches underground on as chilly fall day was worth it, come spring.  Pushing up through chilly soil into even chillier air, they are the only game in town in March and early April. It amazes me how these diminuitive plants with their delicate flowers are not only supremely robust, but they are incredibly persistent.  A planting of white anemone blanda I did in rough grass twenty years ago is better now than it was then.  I am embarassed to say the sum total of my small bulb planting last fall consisted of buying Rob a muscari mix from John Sheepers for Christmas.  He planted them in a pair of concrete faux bois planters after New Years-they have been in bloom here at the shop for weeks; drop dead gorgeous.

With the exception of certain varieties of daffodils, the bigger bulbs are not so persistent.  Even daffodils will arrive at that day when they need separating to maintain good flowering.  I planted 1000 daffodils in the orchard meadow on that five acres every fall for 15 years. Some I bought at Franks nursery for a nickel a piece after Thanksgiving.  Some were left over from the fall planting. I mostly planted the cream colored Ice Follies, and Old Pheasant’s Eye-my favorite. The last spring I spent there, heavenly.  The digging and dividing is someone else’s job now.  But I would bet that they will live a long time yet, even flowering poorly.  Much poorer than declining daffodil clumps is the fact that I did not plant a single one last fall.

Tulips, the big frits, the hybrid hyacinths-their first year is their best year. Top size bubs produce top size flowers.  I could dig and dry and replant and grow on-but the Dutch do a much better job of this than I ever could.  It has become tougher to persuade a client to plant big drifts of tulips, knowing it probably will need to be done again the following year. I occasionally see a group of tulips that lasts five years, but rarely.  Having just been in Chicago, where tulips and hyacinths were coming into bloom everywhere I looked, I’ve decided that the fact they need frequent replacement is not a very good reason to pass them up.  After all, no one expects their non stop begonias or coleus to live a second season. Is it fivolous to plant fall bulbs?  Maybe.  But a little garden frivolity never hurt anyone.  I am firm in my resolve to plant bulbs this fall-lots of them.  I hope you do too.  To follow-another picture of those pots with Rob’s muscari; this small planting has taken me by storm.

Posted on: April 19, 2010 Leave a Comment
Filed Under: Uncategorized