No flower in the summer garden throws a bigger, plainer statement than a Hibiscus. The native rose mallows, Hibiscus moscheutos, Hibiscus coccineus, and their kin, are tall perennials of Southern marshes and ditches, and they carry blooms the size of a spread hand, from swamp pink to the scarlet the old books called Texas star. The plants die to the ground each winter and come roaring back, taller than a person by August, humming with bees.

The genus reaches well beyond the wetlands. Hibiscus mutabilis, the old Confederate rose, opens white and ages to deep pink across a single day; the shrubby Hibiscus syriacus, rose of Sharon, is the hardy althea of dooryards and hedges. Mallow family through and through, every one of them keeps that column of fused stamens at the flower's heart, a small architectural signature the bees and hummingbirds read at a glance.