Oleander, Nerium oleander, is the great sun-loving evergreen of the Mediterranean, grown since antiquity for a long summer of bloom, with dark green, leathery, lance-shaped leaves in whorls of three along long, sparingly branched stems. 'Hardy Red' is one of the cold-tougher selections, carrying showy, lightly fragrant clusters of bright red flowers from late spring well into fall.
Few shrubs carry as much history as the oleander, grown around the Mediterranean and across the warm world since antiquity. The name Nerium traces to the Greek neros, meaning moist or watery, a nod to the streamsides and dry watercourses where oleander naturally takes hold, while the old name oleander seems to braid together olea, the olive, and the leathery, lance-shaped leaves the two plants share. Those dark green leaves stand in tidy whorls of three along long, sparingly branched stems, giving the shrub a poised, upright architecture even out of flower.
Nerium oleander has been grown around the Mediterranean since antiquity, the name Nerium drawn from the Greek neros, watery, for the streamsides where the shrub grows wild. 'Variegata' brings that ancient toughness together with luminous foliage: narrow, leathery leaves edged in creamy white around a deep green center, held in whorls along the stems so the whole shrub seems lightly frosted even when out of flower.
Nerium oleander is among the oldest shrubs in cultivation, grown around the Mediterranean since antiquity and named from the Greek neros, watery, for the streamsides and washes where oleander grows wild. The dark green, leathery, lance-shaped leaves sit in tidy whorls of three along long, sparingly branched stems, lending the shrub a clean, upright presence in every season.
Devilwood earns the odd name honestly. Osmanthus americanus carries a wood so cross-grained and stubborn that early woodworkers swore the timber was possessed, and the name has stuck for centuries, a small piece of American folklore hung on an otherwise gracious plant. The leaves are leathery, elliptical, and smooth-margined, a deep glossy green without the spines that arm so many tea olives, and they build into a dense, rounded evergreen of fifteen to twenty-five feet, handsome as screen, understory, or small tree.
Some plants are grown for the eye and some for the nose, and sweet osmanthus belongs wholly to the second camp. The very name tells the story: Osmanthus joins the Greek osme, a scent, with anthos, a flower, and fragrans doubles down, so the botanical name reads almost as fragrant fragrant-flower. The blooms themselves are tiny, waxy, and creamy white, tucked so far back among the leaves that a passerby often smells the plant long before finding the flowers, a warm apricot-and-honey perfume that carries across a whole garden on a mild autumn day.
For all the sweet osmanthus grown across the South, most carry the same tiny white flowers, so 'Conger Yellow' arrives as a quiet surprise: a clone bearing clusters of soft, butter-yellow blooms against notably large, glossy leaves. The flowers keep the family gift, that warm apricot-and-honey perfume that drifts on autumn air and, in mild climates, returns in scattered flushes through much of the year, strongest as evening cools.
'Fudingzhu' turns the usual tea olive up a notch. Where most sweet osmanthus scatter a modest few flowers among the leaves, this selection smothers itself in dense, bead-like clusters of small, creamy-white blooms, so freely and for so long that the name is said to mean pearls upon the Buddha's head, for the way the pale flowers crown the plant. The scent is the pure osmanthus perfume, a rich sweetness of ripe apricot and peach that carries on the evening air.
The orange sweet olive is the tea olive at full volume. Where the common form carries tiny white flowers, Osmanthus fragrans f. aurantiacus bears clusters of deep yellow to burnt orange, and the color comes with an even richer scent, a heady sweetness of ripe apricot and peach that fills a garden on a still autumn afternoon. The blooms open in one great, concentrated flush, brief at perhaps a week or two, but so heavy that the whole plant seems to smoke with fragrance while it lasts.
Grown for the leaf rather than the flower, 'Goshiki' is the most colorful of the holly osmanthus. The name means five colors in Japanese, and the spiny, holly-like evergreen leaves earn it: flecked and mottled with cream and yellow against dark green, and flushed at every new growth with startling pink and orange that slowly settles to gold and green. The species name heterophyllus, from the Greek for different-leaved, fits the whole clan, whose juvenile leaves bristle with holly teeth while older ones smooth to entire margins.
'Gulftide' is the tea olive to reach for when you want the fragrance of the genus and the toughness to carry it through a cold winter. A dense, upright evergreen with glossy, dark green, spiny holly-like leaves, this selection covers itself in tiny waxy white flowers in autumn, and the scent they throw is out of all proportion to the size of the bloom, sweet and carrying, one of the real pleasures of the fall garden.
Among the false hollies, 'Rotundifolius' is the gentle contrarian. Where the species arms the youthful leaves with fierce holly spines, this old form lays them down entirely: the leaves are small, thick, and rounded, nearly circular and spineless, a heavy, puckered dark green that reads more like boxwood or a miniature bergenia than an osmanthus. The oddity is the whole appeal, a curiosity that stops a plantsman mid-path.
'Sasaba' is the holly osmanthus taken to a theatrical extreme, grown less for flower than for the sheer drama of the leaf. Each dark, glossy, evergreen leaf is cut and incised into narrow, spine-tipped lobes that jut out in every direction, so that the whole shrub reads as a slow green explosion. The Japanese name says it well: sasaba means bamboo leaf, for the narrow, divided foliage.
Osmanthus suavis is the mountain member of the sweet olive family, a shrub of quiet, upright grace carried down from high ground. Native to the cool slopes of the eastern Himalayas and the misted forests of southwest China, the plant has the unhurried resilience of alpine flora, and the narrow, pointed, finely toothed leaves, darkly lustrous and neatly held, give a formal, upright presence the year round.
Osmanthus burkwoodii is one of the most reliable and sweetly scented of the spring evergreens, a dense, compact shrub that disappears under clusters of tiny white flowers in April and perfumes the whole garden around it. The small, dark green, leathery leaves are finely toothed and glossy, holding their color and structure through the year, so that the plant earns a place long after the fragrance has faded.
Osmanthus x fortunei 'Natchez' is a hybrid that takes the best of two parents. The cross joins Osmanthus fragrans, the sweet olive treasured for its perfume, with Osmanthus heterophyllus, the false holly valued for tough, spiny, evergreen foliage, and 'Natchez' inherits both gifts: a dense, glossy, holly-leaved frame and a flood of fragrance in fall. The hybrid takes the name of the old river town of Natchez, Mississippi, a nod to the Deep South gardens where these tea olives have long been at home.
Osmanthus x fortunei 'San Jose' is a large, upright member of Fortune's tea olive, the garden hybrid that crosses the false holly, Osmanthus heterophyllus, with the sweet olive, Osmanthus fragrans. Among the fortunei clones, 'San Jose' stands apart for thinner, more finely toothed leaves and a taller, more upright habit, a plant that reaches for height where others spread.
Oxydendrum arboreum, the sourwood, is one of the loveliest and most distinctive trees of the Eastern American woods, and among the very last to flower each year. The name tells the story twice over: Oxydendrum joins the Greek oxys, sour or sharp, and dendron, tree, while the common name echoes the same tang, for the leaves, twigs, and bark all taste sourly of oxalic acid when chewed. A member of the heath family alongside azaleas, rhododendrons, and blueberries, sourwood stands alone as the sole species in the genus, native to well-drained, acid woodland soils from southern Pennsylvania to the Florida panhandle and west toward Louisiana, most abundant in the lower Appalachians.
Hardiness
Zones 5–9
Light
Full Sun / Part Shade
Height
30–50 ft.
Spread
15–25 ft.
Bloom
White
Plant type
Tree
Traditional use
digestive health, respiratory support, general wellness
Passiflora 'Incense' is a passionflower bred for pure spectacle, an extraordinary cross between the native maypop, Passiflora incarnata, and the South American Passiflora cincinnata. The hybrid gathers the toughness of the native parent and the drama of the exotic one into a single deep-violet flower four to five inches across, the wavy corona filaments frilled and banded in purple and white, carrying a sweet, incense-like fragrance that gives the plant its name.
Wild blue phlox turned up in the Woodlanders catalog almost by insisting on it, growing in the woods around Aiken the way the plant has for as long as anyone can remember. We have watched these colonies for years, and taking this long to offer them is either a comment on our patience or on our woody bias. Possibly both.
