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uSee CUTTINGS, Page 14
AS WE COUNT down the days of the year, I work in my garden, walk though it or sit at the window looking out at it, or, most often of all, dream of it. It is difficult to do any of these things without looking at plants as one looks at old friends. I don't know how many plants grow in my garden, but there are certainly hundreds of varieties. My feeling for any single species or variety is likely to change as the plant develops, but with some there is no question. They are friends.
I would not dare voice, in the garden, the prejudices I am about to share with you. I like gardening, and try not to be too partial in talking to my plants. I would never, in their presence, indicate a preference for one plant over another, when I know all are doing their best to win my favor. To relegate any plant to a second tier of desirability would be ill-mannered and, when you get right down to it, not smart. I hesitate to identify any species as a favorite, but some are particular friends.
Plants are living things, attuned to what is going on around them. I have no doubt that plants are capable of tapping into the gardener's feelings, perhaps even understanding his language, if one is indiscreet enough to voice likes and dislikes in the garden. They certainly are smart enough to let me know what pleases them and what does not. They may send messages by the droop of a stem, the browning of a leaf, or, over a period of time, by a performance that I know is less than they are capable of--or, at the other end, far above the norm. One of the joys of gardening has been looking for those messages and responding. I misread or misunderstand sometime. Still, over the years, plants and I have come to know each other well enough to carry on multiple conversations during various seasons.
I confess that I like the genus Euphorbia, though I do not know a great deal about it and grow fewer than 10 of the more than 2,000 species. Euphorbias grow throughout the world, perhaps a testament to the fact that many are weedy, but in my small garden invasiveness may not be a negative but a testament to reliability. Poinsettias are euphorbias, as are container-grown crown of thorns. I prize my crown of thorns and am particularly partial to the manner in which its red flowers do not overpower its green leaves. Both exist in such harmony that I marvel at their lack of competitiveness. Snow on the mountain is also an euphorbia, and may be fine in the less-structured garden, but is a bit too territorial for my taste.
Some years ago a gardening friend gave me Roger Turner's book "Euphorbias, a Gardeners' Guide" (Portland, Oregon, Timber Press, 1998), and I have tried to learn from it. Euphorbias range from ground-huggers to shoulder-high plants, which share two common features. "The most significant feature," Turner notes, "is their unusual flower structure. The flowers themselves are greatly reduced. Petals, which the keen gardener usually looks for on a plant, are absent, nor are there any sepals. What the novice assumes to be the flowers are in many cases leaves that have taken over the task of being brightly colored to attract insects."
The poinsettia is an example.
Turner continues: "The other common feature can be discovered by breaking the stem, or any other part of the plant. This will immediately reveal a white, poisonous, milky juice know as latex. If you are trying to identify a mysterious plant and there is no white latex, you can be sure it is not a Euphorbia."
It was E. lathyris, caper spurge or gopher spurge, a biennial, that introduced me to the euphorbias. The first year it is symmetrical and structured, producing a single stem along which leaves climb the stem in fours. Undeniably handsome, it may reach 4 feet or a bit more. The second year it branches and becomes bushy, producing masses of terminal yellow flowers before seeding and becoming unsightly enough to require removal. This is best done with gloves in case you are susceptible to its poisons. I always leave it until it has spread a few seed, which it will do with abandon. Though the dying plant is not a great charmer, the several seasons, including winter, when it is handsome and green make it worth growing.
The showiest of the euphorbias grown hereabout is E. characias, subspecies wulfenii. It is a standout in the garden at Belmont in Falmouth, where it grows near the summer house at the river end of the garden. It is an evergreen perennial that is clump-forming and always handsome, though it takes a year or two to develop. The stems are biennial and die after flowering, at which time they need to be cut back to the base, taking care not to injure new stems. They will self-seed, but not as wantonly as gopher spurge. It is a good idea to care for some of the seedlings, for the plant is not long-lived, fading and losing the fight against cold weather in 10 or fewer years. It likes sun, good drainage and some winter protection, simple requirements that are happily provided for a plant so showy.
The green and yellow-green leaves of the euphorbias are, in some varieties, touched with red. Flowers follow the same color patterns, though true yellows and red abound here. They grow well with other plants, with varieties that reach maturity successively throughout the year. Once you grow any euphorbia, you likely will want to try others. I did, and have not been disappointed.
TONY P. WRENN of Fredericksburg is a lifelong gardener. He welcomes questions from readers and will try to answer them in his column. Contact him by mail at The Free Lance-Star, 616 Amelia St., Fredericksburg, Va. 22401; by fax at 373-8455; or by e-mail to his attention at gwoolf@freelancestar.com.
