clear: easy breeze: 64ºF

Two weeks ago the iris garden was the botanical garden’s main attraction. This morning the few blooms that remain are not reason enough to get visitors to leave the main walk for a closer look. Even the iris stalks have been cut so that those who missed the spectacle will never know what they missed.

I have two newly planted irises at home that also have finished blooming so I was interested in how the keepers of this garden cut the spent stalks. I looked closely at dozens of the plants that I knew had flowered freely, but couldn’t see any trace of a stock. How had they done it? I felt like poking around among the fans to find out where the stock stubs were hidden, but decided to wait until I got home to inspect the irises in my own little patch instead.

I found that the flower stalks push through an envelope of overlapping edges of some fans at the base of the plant. To cut the stock without leaving a trance, all I had to do was to pry open the lips of the fan and snip the stock. Then, like a spring, the lips curled back into place making it impossible to know whether the clump had flowered.

The rose garden in this botanical garden is one of 24 sites used by the All American Rose Selection to test roses vying to be named an “All-American Rose.” It also previews the committee’s selections a year before they are offered to the public to give rose growers here a sneak peek at what they might want to buy next spring. I’m not sure how many roses will be named next year, but I did spot two of 2006 All-American Rose Selections that I think will be hits: ‘Rose Sorbet’ and ‘Julia Child.’

‘Rose Sorbet’ glows. Its lemon-colored core gradually gives way to a mix of creams, magentas, pinks, ending with a fiery red-orange. If I were writing the AARS public relations piece for ‘Rose Sorbet,’ I’d go on to say that the blooms “are beautifully accented by the glossy, deep green foliage.”


‘Julia Child’ follows the long tradition of rose hybridizers to name a rose for someone of note to honor the person and to increase sales. In her book For the Love of Rose, Antonia Ridge writes “Now, a rose-grower never calls a new rose by someone’s name—at least not someone still living—without first courteously asking permission.” Weeks Roses, the company that will offer 'Julia Child,' did just that. On their website they write, “Just before our wonderful American icon left us, she selected this exceptional rose to bear her name. Julia loved the even butter gold color & the licorice candy fragrance.” This yellow rose named in her honor flowers abundantly and exuberantly at the botanical garden. In its prime each blossom brims with color and looks like a soufflé right out of the oven. Like Julia Child in her later years, her namesake rose spreads a bit as it ages. Its color dulls too, but it never looks haggard or dowdy.

I sat in one of the benches bordering the larger of the botanical garden’s two rose gardens to watch visitors. I wanted to see which of the hundreds of roses in bloom would garner most attention. If there was a visitor’s choice for roses, the hands-down winner would be a rose named ‘Liebeszauber.’ It’s big. It’s a vibrant red. It smells like a rose ought to smell. And, probably most important of all: it bears its blooms at nose height-- no knelling; no stooping needed. This is indeed the people’s rose.









now and then rain: mostly calm: 78ºF

The summer planting has begun. Remnants of tulips remain in a few beds, but spring seems passé already. The large beds at the sides of the reflecting ponds are filled with small plants that should grow to dazzle visitors by mid-summer. Each bed is backed with a row of cannas with deep bronze leaves. None of the plants in the new beds have labels yet, so I don’t know whether the cannas blooms will be red, orange, yellow or some mix of those. In front of the cannas, at the centerpiece of the bed is a single white datura flanked on either side by a clump of silvery wormwood. As much as I like daturas for their nighttime fragrance and the sight of the sphinx moths that they lure to them, I wonder why a botanical garden that closes at night and opens at nine would chose a night flower as centerpiece for its showcase planting. The rest of the bed is filled in with red angelwing begonia, pink lantana, and here and there a stand of bronze ornamental millet. Right now garden visitors ignore the fledgling beds as they hurry to join the crowd in the nearby iris garden.

By chance, we arrived at the Garden just as the chartered busses from the national convention of the American Iris Society got here. I mingled with the group as they headed to the Iris Garden. A member of the Society from Colorado told me that he had 800 different varieties of irises in the garden that he and his wife planted. I asked him if he ever tried to develop new varieties of iris. He explained that he was 74 years old and that if he was lucky it would take four years just to get a single good, new variety. So working out the mathematics of life, he and his wife decided to continue to enjoy their garden of irises bred by others.

I asked him what was hot now in iris circles. He mentioned two types: the irises with falls of broken colors and the “Space Ager” irises. “What?,” I said. He took me to see one. He explained that the Space Agers were irises with detached beards that lifted from the falls and ended in shapes that he said were called spoons or flounces. I took a picture of the iris he showed me as he walked away to talk iris with someone less of a novice that I.




I thought of those star wars conventions where the movie fans dress in costumes to mimic their heroes. Iris fans are not as bold. They do wear t-shirts emblazed with irises and hats with buttons touting the site of the next convention, but I saw only one person who did more. He stood out with his pair of lavender-colored shoes.




From what I was able to hear as I walked the around the Garden, the iris that iris people had the strongest opinions about was a variety called “Oreo” – aptly name for the cookie. Some called its shape and contrasting color a breakthrough in iris hybridization. They thought that this iris was exactly what was needed to jolt landscapers and ordinary gardeners out of thinking of irises as flowers only a grandma could love. Others thought Oreo underdeveloped, gaudy, and ungainly—lacking in the elegance that an iris ought to have. The iris was introduced less than a year ago by veteran breeder Keith Kappel . I could find no mention of Oreo on the internet, so big-time marketing still must be some time off. But judging from talk of the iris people, Oreo will be one to watch.

I’ve almost never look closely at azaleas. They color the landscape with lavender, orange, and red -- nice enough from a distance. This morning growing in the deep shade of the English Woodland Garden, I saw an azalea from distance that reeled me in for a closer look. The flowers were white—each a couple of inches across. They were arranged in a bouquet shaped like a pyramid. The lip of each flower looked though it had been tattooed with an elaborate fan-shaped design done in a deep purple. The sign near the shrub named the varity ‘Calsap.’ Checking the web, I found that the American Rhododendron Society gave ‘Calsap’ its Rhododendron of the Year Award for 2005 . Calsap is a vigorous grower and a late bloomer. The foliage tends to be thinner shadier spots, but who would cares about foliage when this azalea blooms?








clear: easy breeze: 74ºF

Most of the time I walk around the borders of the rose garden rather than going through it. This morning though I was thinking of Rose Evening-- the Garden’s annual coming out party for the roses scheduled for May 26th -- and wondering whether the blooms would be waiting for me to ogle as I sipped some wine and snaked my way along the grassy paths between the beds. Last year the roses were uncooperative. They peaked weeks before the Rose Evening crowds arrived. This year though because of a cooler than wanted spring, I think the roses will be right on time for their formal debut. Just now, most have small buds; a few are beginning to show a sliver of color; I saw none in bloom.

The best place to get an look at the whole rose garden is from one of the benches at perimeter of the circular-shaped garden. I headed for one of the white benches for a look. When I sat down what I noticed though was the bench, not the roses. It was a simple low bench topped with long glossy slats for seats.

My first thought was that the bench was made of recycled plastic since this botanical garden has an active program of turning plastic garden containers into boards and a gift shop that often features lawn furniture made of recycled plastic. I looked more closely at the legs of the bench and saw a couple dings. Surprise! This bench is made of wood. The nameplate identified the maker as company in Maine named Weatherend Estate Furniture. Their website says they make “a distinctive line of heirloom quality furnishings” inspired by the outdoor furnishings created by early twentieth-century landscape architect Hans Heistad for a private estate near Rockport called Weatherend.

Weatherend furniture, they say, is made “by applying the skill, techniques, and materials used by yacht builders on the coast of Maine.” The wood they use is most often teak; joints are mortise and tendon; glue used is marine epoxy; and the hardware is stainless steel and brass. The high-gloss marine finish coat is so durable that even lacquer thinner or nail polish remover won’t phase it. The furniture is expensive (The web site discretely avoids giving prices.) and is available custom-made when ordered through a “design professional.”

I have new respect for the bench I sat on this morning. Now I know it has a distinguished name: The LaSalle Bench. It has a high gloss white finish and is 65 inches long, 20 inches deep, and stands 17 inches from the ground. Odd. When I sat on it this morning, it was just a bench. Now it has been transformed into a treasured architectural element.


When the lilacs bloom, so does the fringe tree (Chiconanthis virginica). Like the lilac the fringe tree has its own sweet fragrance that drapes over and around the small tree. In some places, the leaves are hidden by feather duster-like clumps of flowers. In others its spear-shaped leaves poke out of overlapping puffs of flowers like tall buildings from a ground fog. I find it very hard to take a decent photo of the small white threadlike flowers. In past spring my photos were spoiled by poor camera focus, distance, lighting, or a sudden breeze. This year I though I did it. I got a picture: a good picture. So this is how it feels to finally catch the big one.

Hundreds of varieties of iris are blooming much to the pleasure of early morning visitors and photographers. I’m certain the varieties are organized in some way but I find it a waste of time to try to figure planning and placement when there is so much to see. There is no mass planting in this garden. Each iris variety gets allotted space enough for one decent sized clump – no more. The result is a garden of frenzied colors, the aesthetic be damned.

Some of the iris beds have been infected with a fugal disease that I am guessing is iris leaf spot. According to a University of Illinois Extension bulletin, the disease begins with a pocking of irregular-sized spots on the upper half of the leaves. Then when the plant blooms the spots grow and coalesce into unsightly brown patches that “weaken the plant, cause aesthetic loss, contribute to general decline, and cause premature leaf death, which weakens the rhizomes or bulbs.” Bad luck: the bed of irises filled with the fascinating varieties bred by Brad Kasparek have been particularly hard hit. Last year they were newly planted so blooms were few. This year: the infection. I take comfort in that old saw about perennials: the first year they sleep, the second year they creep, the third year they leap. I wait, anticipating next spring.

Blue flax (Linum pernenne) is blooming in the herb garden. Like daylilies, each flower lasts just a day and sometimes just a morning if the day is too hot for its liking. But, the buds are plentiful so these plants should show color for quite some time. Blue flax is a plant that suffers when described rather than seen: wispy foliage, dangling buds, and a flower with a color that shimmers is about the best I can do. The White Flower Farm catalog, that gourmet menu of perfect pictures and luscious words, does better: “From May into July, this dainty personality produces a succession of one inch, satiny flowers of mouthwatering, pure sapphire blue that look specially fetching with the pink spikes of Salvia 'Rose Wine'. Each flower comes and goes in a day, discreetly dropping its petals, but the buds are so plentiful that there is always a fresh crop of blooms the next morning.”

We saw two pigeons on the circular walk in front of the Shaw House. They were drinking from some puddles left from an early morning sprinkling. As we watched them, Pat asked. “Did you know that pigeons and maybe doves are the only birds that can drink without raising their heads to let the water go down?” I didn’t, but I could see that these two pigeons were sucking in water without once lifting their heads. From a web site I checked later I learned that pigeons, doves, and parrots are all members of the order Columbiform, a word comes from the Latin for dove. The web site confirmed Pat’s “did you know?:” “Columbiforms are the only birds able to drink without lifting their heads so that gravity can take the water down the gullet. They drink by immersing their beaks and sucking.”