Spring Comes to Dumbarton

When I left my two-acre Connecticut garden for a postage stamp in Georgetown, friends and acquaintances alike asked me in sympathetic tones “how can you leave your garden?”  I smugly rejoined that I was moving to a place where I would “have” several gardens, like the one designed by Beatrix Ferrand at Dumbarton Oaks, where I can meander at will without having to fuss about ground hogs, weeds, pruning, etc.  I imagine it’s a bit like being a grandparent:  You get to enjoy your grandchildren and then hand them back to their parents when they need changing or hit puberty.

With this in mind, to escape the Capitol’s preoccupation with a threatened government shutdown and enticed by an e-mail announcing that the “gift shop is in Bloom” I headed to Dumbarton for a stroll. Arriving in late afternoon, I bought a reasonably priced season pass and found that it is not only the shop that is in bloom.  The gardens are at that glorious mid-spring moment when nearly naked trees and shrubs stand side by side with others heavily endowed with breathtaking blossoms and spring green leaves – quite literally breathtaking, as my allergies suggested.

Dumbarton's ancient katsura

I love Dumbarton not just for its rich panoply of plants, but also for it’s stunning layout.  It has good bones so it is just as beautiful in mid-winter, bereft of leaves and flowers, as it is in peak spring, a test of good garden design.  While it is full of Italian, French, and British influences, and its plants hail from the four corners, I like to think of it as truly American, a melting pot of influences yielding a unique and inspiring result still evident though Farrand’s original design has been altered over time. 

While you can walk straight up to the gardens along the gravel drive from the R Street entrance, I prefer to enter along the shaded, shrub enclosed walk on the south side of the East Lawn to pay homage to the ancient Katsura (cercidiphyllum japonicum) featured there.  The leaves on this Asian native, which turn a gentle yellow-orange in fall, are heart shaped, which is what “cercidiphyllum” refers to, but they are not yet out.  As a result, this specimen’s magnificent structure, from root to twig and stark against the fresh greenness of the spring lawn, is completely captivating.  Whether upright or weeping, Katsuras are hardy in zones 4-8, require consistently moist soil, and are a superb choice for large spaces. 

Yellow epimediums

Dark pink epimediums

Deep in the heart of the gardens, I stumbled into the Prunus Walk where the flowering plums (Prunus x blireana) were peaking.  I know I should have been more excited about these trees, replacements for the original yew hedge, but I was utterly mesmerized by the groundcover beneath them.  There, blooming above a dusting of fallen plum petals is deep pink and pale yellow Bishop’s Mitre (epimediums).  There are over 60 species of epimediums, some of which are purported aphrodesiacs, hence another common name: “Horny Goat Weed”.   They are low growing hardy perennials, mostly from China and central Asia.  Charming enough for their heart shaped leaves and drought tolerance, their delicate blooms are to die for – tiny flowers resembling a miniature cross between daffodils and columbines and ranging in color from yellow to white to lavender and this delicious dark pink.  My epimediums in Connecticut, unmolested by deer and groundhogs, were too far from the house to be enjoyed.  Now I will include them along my front walk where they will revel in part shade and I can easily see them.

Pink crabapple just breaking bud

Crabapple Hill is just starting to peak as well.  It’s worth the hike up from the lower gardens to see these trees breaking bud.  I love crabapples (Malus) because many varieties are nearly as beautiful in fall and winter as they are in spring when they bear beautiful small persistent red, orange, or yellow fruits. The trick when choosing crabapples is to be sure you have one of the fruiting varieties that are disease resistant because, as members of the rose family, they are susceptible to nasty blights that can leave them looking perfectly horrible in mid-summer.

Icy blue Ipheon -- the darker ones
are gorgeous, too

In front of the house I came across one of my favorite bulbs in full stunning bloom.  Spring Starflower (Ipheon uniflorum), from southern South America, is a fantastic shade of icy blue (it also comes in white, dark violet and pink) and is perfectly sited in slightly shady spot beneath a blooming pink and white viburnum.  Its slightly garlicky smell is off-putting to squirrels, which otherwise flagrantly dine on tulip and crocus bulbs, and it naturalizes beautifully.  It needs to be tucked where its fall grass-like leaves are not annoying, just like the Armenian grape hyacinth (muscari armeniacum) that blooms near Dumbarton’s main gate.  Indeed, I recommend planting them together because they are an eye-catching combination.

Swathes of muscari

The guards at the gate are very polite, but I took the hint the third time they asked me if I’d enjoyed the gardens.  It was closing time, so I thanked them for their patience, and reluctantly walked through the graceful gates.   With my season pass snug in my wallet, and Dumbarton’s excellent gardeners on duty, though, I know I can come back any day between 2-6pm, except on Mondays, to enjoy “my garden” again.

Northern Exposure

Northern Exposure

March 28, 2011

Last week, when I thought it was spring, I yanked the straggly hydrangeas and ailing boxwoods from my front walk, leaving a lovely blank space, just begging for new plants.  My front walk is on the north side of the house.  This northern exposure means I’m going to have to find things that will thrive in deep shade.  As I often do when in need of inspiration (or just feeling nosy), I walked around the neighborhood to check out what is “going on” in other north side gardens.  It is admittedly a little early for most perennials, but this didn’t deter me. 

 Spiky Mahonia aquifolium

Determined to hunt down “plants of interest” (sniff), I walked several blocks before being stopped in my tracks by a plant that reminds me of my childhood in Seattle.   Oregon grape, (Mahonia aquifolium -- don’t you love Latin?) has been in bloom for weeks now, displaying clusters of yellow flowers in 2-3 inch racemes (flowers that bloom along a stem).  Mahonia is not for the faint-of-heart because of its off-putting spiky dark green leaves that turn purplish in winter.  I rather like its fierceness, and delight in memories of smearing its dark bluish purple berries on my little brother’s t-shirt as a child.  It is often used as a foundation plant and does best when protected from winter winds because as tough as those leathery leaves look, they are susceptible to desiccation. 

Chaenomeles flouting the cold

Encouraged, I soldiered on along the cold shady sidewalk when I was distracted by a glorious quince (Chaenomeles speciosa), in full bloom across the street.  By this time I was chilled and digressing to photograph this gorgeous Chinese native in full sun was irresistible.  Like many deciduous early bloomers, it begins blooming on bare, spiny twigs before its’ leaves appear.  Quince’s emergent leaves are tinged with a complimentary reddish-bronze color that softens into a dark green in summer but drop in autumn without changing color.  While it blooms best in full sun, I have seen it growing in dry light shade where it still blooms well.  Quince is used as a specimen, as espaliers, in mass plantings where fall and winter interest are unimportant, and mixed in borders where colors ranging from white to pink to salmon colors are wanted.  Its fruits are not remarkable but can be used in preserves, and its salt tolerance makes it an attractive alternative where road salt is problematic.

Surprise scilla tubergeniana

Back to the shady side of the street.   Tucking my collar up as the cold breeze reminded me that snow was due (honestly!), I trudged on and was delighted to discover bulbs blooming that I didn’t recognize.  It’s scilla tubergeniana or s. mischtschenkoana (why have one difficult Latin name when you can have two?), a sweet white six-petalled flower with the odd common name “White Squill”.  This Iranian native was introduced to the Netherlands (of course) in 1931 and like other scillas, tolerates shade. There’s a gorgeous photo on-line of white squill planted with snowdrops and white crocus so I will order lots when I get to the bulb planting stage in my new garden.   Yum.

A perfect daphne

Around the corner a fragrant winter daphne (daphne odora aureomarginata) was in full bloom in a very shady spot.  Its dark green leaves, edged in cream reminded me how dramatic variegated plants are in shade.  The great thing about variegated leaves is that they lend the verisimilitude of dappling light in dark areas just as they set off adjacent flowers or dark green leaves.  This species of daphne bears charming clusters of tiny pink flowers, which are as fragrant as any jasmine, especially in warmish sun.  I was pleased to see it in such good shape because although it is hardy to Zone 6, we have had some nasty cold spells this winter that might have damaged it.  I have always adored daphnes in spite of their temperamental disposition.  They are reputedly short-lived so, as Michael Dirr says, “Once planted, do not move, prune, or abuse in anyway”.   Sounds like some people I know!

Elegent Andromeda

Andromeda (pieris japonica) is also blooming around Georgetown.  I found several white-blooming shrubs in various sizes looking fresh and beautiful.  I grew them in Connecticut because of their deer resistance and early flowers, though I am not crazy about the varieties with bright red new growth.  That works best for me at a distance in a large garden, but depending on your preferences, it could also work in a smaller garden where red is appreciated.  There are pink cultivars that are absolutely delicious but perhaps more delicate than the rough and ready whites.  Andromeda’s susceptibility to lace bug requires them to be planted in shadier areas, and in small gardens, compact cultivars are better than larger ones which tend to become leggy. 

Straight from the Himalayas

I also came upon an old Himalayan friend, which works very well in borders or mass plantings.  Sweetbox (Sarcococca hookerana) is a low glossy leaved shrub with tiny cream-colored flowers in March and April that can be amazingly fragrant on a warm day.  I was introduced to it at Tudor Place where I remember its fragrance wafting up the back of the garden making me feel as though I’d walked into the tropics, a welcome rebuke to winter.  It did poorly for me in Connecticut but I may just try it again here for it’s glossy, pointed leaves and low dense structure.   

I could go on – there are epimediums, skimmias, euphorbias, even rosemary, and other wonderful plants starting to bloom around town – but will stop here.   I’m off to the nursery, now the snow is past.