The middle storey of the garden, built to last. Large shrubs bridge the gap between the canopy and the ground, giving height, screening, and year-round substance without the scale or wait of a full tree.
Distylium myricoides is an evergreen member of the witch-hazel family, Hamamelidaceae, and a quiet cousin to the fragrant winter witch-hazels, though the family resemblance hides in the flowers rather than the leaves. The genus name comes from the Greek for "two styles," for the paired styles at the heart of each small bloom, while the species epithet myricoides means "resembling Myrica," the bayberries, a nod to the narrow, leathery foliage.
Distylium racemosum is the type species of the genus and the most tree-like of the isu trees, an evergreen member of the witch-hazel family, Hamamelidaceae. The genus name comes from the Greek for "two styles," for the paired styles at the center of each small flower, while the species epithet racemosum notes the short racemes along which those flowers are held.
Golden dewdrop, Duranta erecta, is a member of the verbena family grown across the warm world for two ornaments the shrub carries at once: loose, drooping sprays of soft lilac-blue flowers, each with a darker eye, and long chains of round, glossy amber berries that hang like strings of wet gold. The common name catches that second gift exactly, while older names, pigeon berry and skyflower, catch the first. Native from Mexico and the Caribbean through much of tropical South America, the shrub has been carried into gardens throughout the subtropics, where the plant flowers and fruits nearly year round.
The gold-edged form of silverthorn, and a genuinely useful evergreen for hard places. Leaves are leathery and wavy-margined, three inches or so long, glossy green through the middle with a broad creamy-gold border, and silvered underneath with a dusting of tiny brown scales that catches light when the wind turns them. In October and November the shrub produces small creamy-white bells, apetalous and easy to overlook entirely, which is a joke the plant plays every autumn: the flowers are nearly invisible and the scent is extraordinary, closer to gardenia than to anything else, and strong enough to stop people on a path while they work out where it is coming from. Small reddish-brown drupes follow in spring and are technically edible, though the birds are welcome to them.
Elliottia racemosa, the Georgia plume, is one of the rarest and most coveted of all southeastern native plants, a deciduous shrub or small tree that lifts great feathery plumes of white flowers in the heat of summer. First found by the naturalist William Bartram in 1775 and named for the botanist Stephen Elliott, this member of the heath family grows wild in only a scattering of Georgia localities and almost nowhere else on earth. To grow one is to hold a genuine botanical treasure.
Pearlbush is named for the week before the show rather than the show itself. Along each slender arching branch, the flower buds swell into round, hard, pure white beads strung out in a line, and for a few days in very early spring the shrub looks convincingly like a plant hung with pearls. Then the buds open into cupped white flowers an inch or so across, six to ten of them to a raceme, and the whole irregular upright frame of eight to ten feet goes white at a point in the year when almost nothing else has started. The plant is sure to attract attention in flower, and does very well in the South, where pearlbush is a dependable herald of spring.
In the forests of the Himalayan foothills and across monsoon Asia grows a fig of ancient bearing, Ficus roxburghii, known to botanists today as Ficus auriculata and to gardeners as the elephant-ear fig. This is no dainty exotic. In the tropics the plant makes a bold small tree; in the American South, where hard frost cuts back the top, the fig returns from the root each year as a heroic perennial, with a presence as memorable as a live oak draped in Spanish moss.
Swamp privet, Forestiera acuminata, is a native deciduous shrub or small tree of the wet South, at home in the flood-prone bottoms and streambanks from Texas east to South Carolina and up the Mississippi Valley as far as Illinois and Indiana. A member of the olive family, Oleaceae, and a distant cousin of the true privets, the plant shrugs off standing water and seasonal flooding with an ease few woody plants can match.
The native fothergillas were choice but scarcely available garden shrubs when Woodlanders first began to offer them back in 1980. This one, a hybrid of Fothergilla gardenii and F. major, was found by Dr. Michael Dirr at the Mt. Airy Arboretum in Cincinnati, Ohio, and has since become the most widely grown fothergilla of all, and deservedly so.
'Sea Spray' has long traveled under the name Fothergilla major, a tidy assumption the botanists have since complicated. Run through a flow cytometer, the plant turns out to be a hybrid, F. × intermedia, the meeting of mountain witch-alder (F. major) and the dwarf coastal F. gardenii, the little shrub Charleston's Alexander Garden sent across to England in the 1760s, in a genus already named for John Fothergill, the London physician who tried to grow half of America in a single garden. All of which makes the name, for once, honest. Most Sea Spray christenings are wishful; this one actually carries the coast in the blood.
The native fothergillas were choice but scarcely available garden shrubs when Woodlanders first began to offer them in 1980, and mountain witch alder is the largest and, to our eye, the best of them. Fothergilla major makes a rounded deciduous shrub of six to eight feet, slow and dense, and gives two distinct performances a year. In April the bare or barely-leafing branches carry upright white bottlebrushes, an inch or two long, made not of petals but of crowded stamens with pale yellow anthers, and they carry a honeyed scent that reaches further than the flowers look able to manage. In October the blue-green leaves turn all at once to orange, scarlet and yellow, often several colors on a single leaf.
Few plants carry a story like the Franklin tree. Collected from the banks of the Altamaha River in Georgia by John and William Bartram in the 1760s and named by them for their friend Benjamin Franklin, Franklinia alatamaha was last seen growing wild around 1803 and has never been found in nature since. Every Franklinia alive today, in every garden and arboretum on earth, descends from the seed the Bartrams carried home to Philadelphia. To grow one is to hold a living piece of that lineage.
Some plants elevate the familiar into the extraordinary, and Gordonia lasianthus 'Variegata' does exactly that, taking the quiet majesty of the native loblolly bay and dressing it in a silken fringe of cream. The glossy green leaves are edged in irregular strokes of ivory, as though touched by the brush of some moonlit painter in the pine woods, and the whole shrub glimmers softly through every season.
Grevillea 'Canberra Gem' is a bold and unusual Australian evergreen, a hybrid of Grevillea juniperina and Grevillea rosmarinifolia that brings fine texture, vivid color, and a touch of the exotic to an adventurous garden. The narrow, needle-like foliage is often mistaken for a conifer, until late winter, when the shrub reveals a true identity in a profusion of rose-red, spider-like flowers that spill from the branches and catch the eye clear across the garden.
Hamamelis virginiana does everything backwards, and that is the entire appeal. When the rest of the woods has shut down for the year, when the leaves are gone and nothing else is in flower, witch hazel chooses that exact moment to bloom: spidery yellow flowers, all thin crimped strap-like petals, scattered along the bare branches through late fall and into the cold. They carry a faint sweet scent on a mild day and they wait, patiently, for whatever gnat or late fly is still working, because almost nothing else is. This is the shrub that flowers when flowering makes no sense, and is all the more loved for the defiance.
Heptacodium miconioides, the seven-son flower, is a large, fountain-shaped shrub or small tree that saves its best for the tail of the year, when most of the garden is winding down. In late summer, tiered clusters of small, fragrant, creamy-white flowers open in whorls of seven, the arrangement behind both the botanical and common names. Bees and butterflies work the late flowers gratefully, in a season when little else is on offer.
Hibiscus hamabo is a tall branching shrub reaching fifteen feet or more, wide and rounded, clothed in broad soft leaves that feel almost felted in the hand. Flowers come through summer in a clear light yellow, single and open-faced, five or six inches across, each one carrying a deep crimson blotch at the throat that pulls the eye straight into the center. Individual flowers last a day, as hibiscus flowers do, and are replaced steadily for weeks. Autumn brings a second act that catches most people by surprise: the leaves turn red before dropping, which is not something the genus is generally known for.
The name requires a brief clarification, and then we can move on to the more interesting parts. Hibiscus mutabilis has been called the Confederate rose since the nineteenth century, when the plant naturalized so thoroughly in the gardens of the American South that people assumed it belonged there. The plant does not. The species belongs to Hunan Province in China, where gardeners have grown the shrub for nearly three thousand years, where the flower serves as the emblem of Chengdu, a city known on its account as the City of Hibiscus, and where classical texts on materia medica describe the flowers and leaves in medicinal detail. The name stuck here out of regional habit rather than botanical or historical accuracy, and the plant is indifferent to the label.
Hardiness
Zones 8–11
Light
Full Sun
Height
10–15 ft.
Spread
8–10 ft.
Bloom
Pink
Plant type
Shrub
Traditional use
topical applications, detoxification & cleansing, respiratory support
Hibiscus mutabilis has been grown in Southern gardens for so long that many people assume the shrub is a native, though the species traces to southern China, where gardeners prized the flowers centuries before the plant traveled west. The species name mutabilis, meaning changeable, describes the wild trick of the ordinary Confederate Rose, whose blooms open white in the morning and deepen to pink and then rose-red by evening. 'Rubrum' skips the performance and commits: the single flowers arrive already a saturated rose-red and hold that one deep tone through the day rather than shifting. For gardeners who love the late-season drama of the Confederate Rose but want a single, unwavering color, 'Rubrum' is the selection to plant.
