1143 plants in this collection
There is a quiet poetry in a camellia's defiance of the cold, a flowering that comes not in spring's abundance but in the leanest stretch of the year. Few cultivars speak that winter sonnet as clearly as Camellia 'Crimson Candles', a hybrid of Camellia reticulata and Camellia fraterna.
Camellia rosaeflora is a graceful species camellia from China, one of the lesser-known kinds Woodlanders keeps in circulation for American gardeners. The habit is open and upright, the leaves small and fine for the genus, and in early spring the branches carry masses of small pink flowers, roughly an inch across and lightly double, in such profusion that the spent petals often fall to lay a soft pink carpet on the ground beneath.
Two Hall of Fame inductions hang on Leslie Ann's lineage, though neither is for a flower. The award stamped on her record, the Ralph Peer Sasanqua Award, carries the name of the man who in 1923 hauled recording equipment south to Atlanta and captured the first commercial sides of country and blues. Ralph Peer pioneered field recording and sits in both the Country Music Hall of Fame and the Blues Hall of Fame, then turned that same restless curatorial instinct on camellias late in life, founding the Los Angeles Camellia Society in 1948 and rising to president of the American Camellia Society by 1957. The man who recorded the Carter Family also decided which sasanquas deserved to be remembered. In 1961, one of them was this one.
'Misty Moon' is a relatively new selection of the favorite fall-blooming sasanqua, an upright, bushy evergreen carrying large, rounded, single to semi-double flowers in a soft lavender-pink with gently wavy petals. The fading flowers do something unusual, taking on a cool grayish-blue cast before the petals drop, the detail that earns the name. Woodlanders has grown 'Misty Moon' in the ground for many years here in Aiken, and the old-nursery specimen has become a real showstopper just as the rest of the garden winds down for the year.
This is the tea plant. Not a tea plant but the tea plant. Every cup of green tea, black tea, white tea, oolong, and pu-erh on Earth comes from a single species, Camellia sinensis. The differences in flavor and color come from the timing of the harvest and the way the leaves are handled afterward: green tea from the youngest leaves, briefly steamed; white tea from the unopened buds; black tea from fully oxidized older leaves; oolong from partial oxidation. One plant, many fates.
'Rosea' is a pink-flowered form of the tea plant, Camellia sinensis, the same species behind every cup of green, black, white, and oolong tea, here carrying soft pink flowers in place of the usual white and a reddish flush through the new foliage. The leaves still make tea, so this is an ornamental and a useful plant at once, a little prettier in flower than the straight species and just as willing in the garden.
Camellia × williamsii 'Donation' is widely counted among the finest hybrid camellias ever raised, and a long-standing favorite in our own garden. The cross is between Camellia saluenensis and the old japonica 'Donckelaeri', made by Colonel Stephenson Clarke at Borde Hill in England; the williamsii group to which the plant belongs began with J.C. Williams at Caerhays, whose saluenensis crosses gave the genus a new hardiness and an unmatched freedom of bloom. 'Donation' carried that promise furthest, and the Royal Horticultural Society has long honored the plant with an Award of Garden Merit.
Bred by Les Jury in New Plymouth, New Zealand, first flowered in 1971 and registered in 1976, 'Jury's Yellow' is the camellia that finally cracked the yellow code, or came as close as Western breeders could get before the Chinese yellow species (Camellia nitidissima) made the leap from botanical archive to nursery bench. Jury worked only with white japonicas, betting that the gold of the stamens could be coaxed to bleed into the petaloids at a flower's center. The bet paid off. The result is an anemone-form bloom, nine clean white petals cupped around a thick boss of cream-yellow petaloids, the color of fresh butter rather than crayon yellow.
Woodlanders collected this one in the pre-Andean foothills of northwest Argentina, which is exactly what the name says: praeandinum, before the Andes. The plant grows wild there between three and five thousand feet, in country that bakes by day and chills hard at night, and that upbringing shows. Heat that flattens lesser things does not faze this vine, which still comes back through a Zone 8 winter.
Canna flaccida is the wild golden canna of the Southern coastal plain, a native perennial with the broad, light green, tropical-looking leaves of the genus and large soft yellow flowers held above them in summer. Where the heavy garden cannas read as bedding, this species keeps a looser, wilder grace, the petals thin and almost orchid-like, opening in the morning and lasting a day.
Carex conica 'Marginata' is a miniature evergreen sedge, a tidy, tufted, grass-like clump of narrow dark green blades, each finely edged in silver-white. At close range the effect is crisp and jewel-like, a low cushion of fine texture that holds color and form the year round in mild winters.
Carex flaccosperma, the blue wood sedge, is a clump-forming native of the Southeastern woodlands grown for cool, glaucous, blue to blue-green foliage. The blades are wide for a sedge, to half an inch, faintly quilted along the veins, and they catch the light with a soft powdery sheen that lifts a shaded planting where most greens recede.
Carex morrowii is a tough, clump-forming Japanese sedge grown for deep, glossy, evergreen foliage, a low fountain of arching dark green blades that holds color and form through the year in mild winters. The plain green species is the quiet backbone behind the many variegated selections, and a fine foliage plant in its own right.
Carex morrowii 'Variegata' is the popular silver-edged form of the Japanese sedge, a tufted, grass-like clump of narrow blades to about a foot long, each margined crisply in silvery white. The variegation brightens a shaded planting where plain greens recede, and the evergreen foliage holds the effect through the year in mild winters.
Carya aquatica, the water hickory or bitter pecan, is a large native tree of the walnut family, reaching ninety feet and more in the wild. Across the American South the species dominates clay flats and the backwater ground near streams and rivers, reproducing aggressively by seed and by sprouts from roots and cut stumps, and forming a major part of the region's wetland forests, in part because the more marketable timber trees around the water hickory have so often been logged out.
Native to Central and South America but naturalized across the tropics, this fast-growing shrub flowers not in spring or summer like a well-behaved plant but in autumn and into early winter, hanging great loose clusters of clear, saturated yellow at the ends of arching branches, each bloom built around curved stamens that give a vaguely butterfly-like silhouette. Cloudless Sulphur and Sleepy Orange butterflies find the shrub irresistible as both nectar source and larval host, and tend to arrive in numbers when the flowers open, a fact that either delights or mildly alarms a gardener, depending on how attached one is to the foliage. The caterpillars, for the record, are a vivid chartreuse and genuinely handsome. That is the bargain on offer.
'Buttercream' is a pale yellow-flowered form of Cassia bicapsularis, a softer, more refined take on that shrub's late-season show. Where the species blazes a saturated gold, 'Buttercream' carries clusters of cool, buttery cream-yellow flowers through autumn and into early winter, the same butterfly-like blooms at the ends of fast, arching branches, and the same draw for Cloudless Sulphur and Sleepy Orange butterflies that feed and breed on the plant.
September is a difficult month to write for. The garden is still technically in summer, but the light has shifted, lower and more golden, arriving at an angle that changes everything it touches. Cassia corymbosa reads that shift and answers it. While most summer shrubs are winding down, this one is only beginning, throwing dense corymbs of deep golden-yellow flowers at the branch tips with an enthusiasm that seems almost contrarian for the season.
Few trees carry as much historical weight as the chestnuts, and Castanea mollissima carries it gracefully. This handsome, wide-spreading Chinese native stepped into the void left by one of the great ecological tragedies of the twentieth century, the near-total collapse of the American chestnut, and has been feeding people, wildlife, and the soil ever since. Come fall, the spiny husks crack open to reveal some of the largest, sweetest chestnuts a gardener can grow.
Castanea pumila, the American chinquapin or Allegheny chinkapin, is a deciduous large shrub or small tree native to the eastern and southeastern United States. Long admired by rural foragers and old-time orchardists, this relatively rare native once flourished across the South, where children filled their pockets with the spiny burrs and the sweet, nutty treasure inside.
