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Sunday, February 22, 2009

The Patagonian Steppe: My Vacation Surprise

Lake Nahuel Huapi surrounded by foothills of the Andes

Whenever I travel or visit other gardens, I'm always on the lookout for ideas, new perspectives, solutions to problems, that special plant - all of these are practical matters. Even more, I want to see how the spirit of a place is reflected in a garden. The same goes for wild areas where native plant communities (and these days, environmentally appropriate non-natives which are always present) have "grown into" a space, how they have adapted to soil and moisture conditions, exposure, various environmental threats, how they have become a part of the "self-designed" natural garden (though no such thing exists).

An Extraordinary Discovery
On a recent trip to Argentina and Chile I hoped to do some interesting garden touring. After last minute attempts to reach contacts who might gain me access to some gardens of interest failed, I had almost given up hope of finding anything more than poorly maintained public parks and public gardens. Then, on a side trip to San Carlos de Bariloche in the northwestern Patagonian lake district, I unexpectedly discovered an extraordinary thing as the airport taxi sped through a desert-like landscape in route to our hotel on the shore of Lake Nahuel Huapi. Though I didn't know it, what I was seeing was the Patagonian steppe.

One plant in particular caught my attention: this tufted grass with quite dramatic whitish plumes. I later learned its name is Coiron, but more on that later.


Plunge into the Unknown
On our second day in town, we took a plunge into the unknown (at least to us). We drove to the east end of the lake where I knew we would find the arid landscape I'd seen driving in from the airport. We left the main highway, and headed east on a dusty gravel road. The main landscape feature was a volcanic hill, called Cerro Leones (see below), with steep vertical cliffs, and volcanic caves, which you can tour, but only with a guide speaking Spanish.

Cerro Leones

At the base of Cerro Leones and extending out for miles was a stable ecology of plants well adapted to the brilliant sunlight and dry climate. The next three photos show how well the vegetation covers the land surface, even in the late Argentinian summer (equivalent to late August here). Even more impressive is the range of colors and textures (click on the photos to see more detail). I can only imagine the effect during earlier, wetter periods when many of these plants are in bloom.


You can see many plants take the form of matts, tufts, and small shrubs, so closely spaced in many areas as to form a variegated carpet of ground cover. These individual plants have evolved to thrive in this arid, parsimonious climate, and grown into self-sustaining plant communities. There are few trees, I assume because trees are less able to deal with the climatic stress of this ecology.


The next photo shows large numbers of silver and gray leaved plants, which are quite common in this area.


A low form of Baccharis, which to my surprise seems to live throughout the Americas, and remains easily recognizable, even in different forms, contrasts with the moisture-veiled mountains looking back toward Lake Nahuel Huapi.


Learning about the Steppe
The grass below, Coiron, was my key to learning about the steppe because it lead to my accidental discovery that this "desert" was, in fact, steppe. We had stopped at a market selling the work of local artisans - a kind of collective endeavor that represents artisans all across the steppe. Though no one there spoke English and we spoke only the most rudimentary Spanish, we were able to communicate. I was particularly interested in knowing what the pretty tufted grass I had seen was and asked the question, pointing to it out the window. The young woman in charge of the market immediately responded with excitement. She showed us a small book for sale called Patagonia: Las Leyes de la Estepa (Patagonia: The Laws of the Steppe). It dawned on me that what I had been admiring was a steppe ecology, one I'd read about but never seen. Okay - I was a little over excited. Any plant freak will recall this feeling of discovery, accompanied by a tremulous weakness in the extremities.


Labels, with Botanical Names, no Less
We lingered outside before getting into the car. The young manager noticed our continued interest and came out to show us several plants being established around the building. The tall tree planted nearest the car is an indigenous apple the local people have eaten for centuries (name unfortunately not caught). A number of other native shrubs and trees had been planted, and there was a small rock garden with plants labeled with both local and botanical names.


The label below confirmed my guess that this plant, which I'd seen out in the countryside, was indeed an acaena. There are, in fact, several different species of Acaena indigenous to the Patagonian steppe.


Here are two more photos of the Acaena macrocephala taken out in the countryside. In the second, note the highly reflective sheen of the foliage.



I haven't any idea what this is, but it adds a lot of color on a hot 90+ degree day just after high noon.


Not native according to our guide (and of European origin I've since learned), but famous throughout the steppe of both Argentina and Chile, is Rosa mosqueta (Rosa rubiginosa), which indigenous people have apparently used for many purposes. Oils from the hips are now sold widely for high quality skin care preparations.


Another plant (below) the young manager of the shop thought of special interest is the Neneo (Mulinum spinosum). Neneo retains a notable green color even in the hottest weather, and it has spines that provide admirable protection from browsers (second photo).




Here is yet another type of Acaena, name unknown, but identity clearly demonstrated by the dried seed heads. Like the other Acaenas it has a dense mounding form and silvery foliage.



I wish I had more knowledge of the steppe and its "laws" but this one brief visit, and my copy of Los Leyes de la Estepa is all I'm left with at the moment. What a beautiful way to cover the ground!

I can't imitate such plantings in my own garden of heavy, wet clay, in the temperate Northeast US, but I do see practical lessons in use of variously shaped and colored ground covers, in the soft pastels of the steppe plants, and in focus on plant communities, rather than on individuals, as the backbone of the garden.

The pastel sunrise on Lake Nahuel Huapi suggests the soft pastels of the steppe plants. I don't suggest a real connection, but certainly an imaginary one, between the land and the sky.


If you're familiar with steppe environments, I welcome comments. I'm still trying to read Las Leyes de la Estepa, and will make revisions and additions as I learn more.

Friday, February 06, 2009

ON VACATION

We're leaving today for two weeks in Argentina and Chile, where I hope to see some interesting gardens. I understand there is no tradition of open gardens in Argentina, so don't know what to expect. I hope to do a couple of posts from there, but that's uncertain.

Here is the web address of an innovative Uruguayan garden designer, Amalia Robredo, who I learned of through Noel Kingsbury's blog, and who specializes in use of plants native to the Uruguayan "monte" habitat and a sustainable design approach.

Amalia has been very helpful to me, providing historical and cultural context as well as contact information. You may want to take a look at the web site of the Argentinian garden magazine, Jardin, which has a gallery of garden images in a naturalistic style at this address.

Thursday, February 05, 2009

Destination Solitude


At the far end of the garden is a newly open area. I'd like to create a destination for garden visitors, a place to stop and rest, where one can look back over the garden toward the house and the woods. The location is behind the large maple tree, shown by the yellow box in the photo above.

My first concept was suggested by an image on Peter Janke's website showing a rather format "allee" of old apple trees (I believe) and grasses with a seat at the end. I was intrigued by the contrast of this formal element with the wildness of the rest of the garden.


On further thought, this may be too different in character from my garden. I've reached no decision but I think this concept of a contrasting area isolated from the rest of the garden has a lot to offer. The view looking back across the garden from this point is a pleasing one, and the sense of isolation and separation imparts a feeling of tranquility. Here is a first very simple sketch of what the new area might look like.


This still feels rather stiff, so I'm considering loosening the planting to simply suggest the effect of straight lines, and possibly adding a mixed planting of perennials and shrubs on the right to break up and partially block the view back to the main garden, and to provide an even greater sense of separation. Perhaps the focal point won't be a seat. It could be a little pavilion, even something quite modern made of wire mesh. The possibilities are endless.

But it's early February ... perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself.

What do you think?

Sunday, February 01, 2009

Garden Diary: 2008 Overview

From the nadir of the gardening year, here is the story of the 2008 garden at Federal Twist. This post is my continuing garden journal for 2009, and I'll be adding comments, criticisms and plans for the future. (All the photos in this post are also available in a slide show at the upper right, top of page. When I get time I'll add captions.)

My garden emulates a wet prairie and gets off to a very slow start in spring and early summer. This is a challenge I'm working on. Its peak is mid-July through October, as demonstrated by the large numbers of images taken in those months. (Warning, there are over 100 photos in this post.)

February

Rime frost in early February...




Completion of the stone wall at the base of the house...




Beginning the pond...


Chasmantheum latifolium outside the house...



March



Progress on the pond ...


April

Early April (just to show how bleak April can be). This looks especially dismal because, as is appropriate with a prairie, I burned many of the grasses, leaving ashen smudges that remained until new green growth emerged ...


May

Finished pond, dogwoods blossoming (the red posts have been replaced by stone wall) ...




A hawk waiting above the pond ...


A 40-year-old crab apple still going strong even in the shade of a sycamore ...


Sweet woodruff and myrtle, planted when the house was built in the mid-60's ...


Ligularia japonica, from Tony Avent's Plant Delights. Extraordinary foliage. I may have to get several more ...


A native Scirpus amid Equisetum arvense ...


Native Sensitive fern ...


Another native, Juncus ...


A green walk at the wood's edge ...


After two years, Silphium perfoliatum seedlings are maturing ...


Euphorbia palustris ...


Iris versicolor, planted en masse, is a first attempt at early color...


And Iris pseudacorus ...



Siberian iris ...


Emerging leaves of Silphium terebinthinaceum ...







Looking across the garden. The ragged cedars were cleaned up later in the season ...





July

The high summer perennials are growing rapidly in early July. The tallest is Filipendula rubra 'Venusta' still without flowers ...


Lysimachia ciliata, Monanda 'Jacob Kline', and Rudbeckia maxima in front ...


The pond, cloudy with algae. It cleared about two weeks later ...


Rudbeckia maxima ...



The Filipendula in bloom. I actually like it better when the pink fades to copper tones ...









Near the end of July the Joe Pye Weed has come into bloom ...


Silphium laciniatum ...



Ernst, to give a sense of scale ...


A tall form of white Physostegia (Obedient plant) that I hope will also become a groundcover ...


Pycnanthemum muticum turns a velvety white; its fragrance attracts thousands of bees and wasps ...



Silphium terebinthinaceum. I planted plugs three years ago. They form huge, beautiful leaves, but this is the first to bloom ...





Late July view towards the house. Its simple, low profile blends well with the woodland and garden ...


Pycnantheum muticum, Petasites hybrid and Miscanthus 'Silberfeder' in a combination 'borrowed' from an Ohme and Van Sweden design ...



Increasing complexity - Rudbeckia maxima, Joe Pye Weed, Vernonia, Eupatorium cannibinum (a European form of our Joe Pye Weed), Silphium laciniatum, Miscanthus purpurescens ...





August

We introduced one summer weed cutting with a string trimmer this year, in early August. It takes a steady hand to avoid the closely spaced perennials. It's the best way to cut down the invasive Japanese Stilt Grass before it makes seed, yet it's late enough to avoid harm to desirable seedlings. Some hand pulling is also required.

Below Liatris pycnostachya adds its wands of purple (the photo color isn't true) in early August ...


Note the coppery color of the aging Filipendula inflorescences. Much better than cotton candy pink ...




Sanguisorbas begin flowering ...



Lobelia cardinalis ...


Physostegia virginiana and Patrinia scabiosifolia with the big leaves of Silphium terebinthinaceum ...



Innula racemosa 'Sonnerspeer' just planted this year, already in bloom ...


Sanguisorba canadensis ...




Lobelia siphilitica (Great Blue Lobelia) ...


Joe Pye Weed, Eupatorium perfoliatum (boneset), Vernonia from seed ...





September


The bank looking up to the house - Viburnum plicatum tomentosum 'Mariesii', Miscanthus gracillimus, Pycnanthemum muticum ...




One of many native asarums ...


A colony of Lobelia cardinalis ...








October
















December







Looking across the garden. Compare the cedars (Juniperus virginiana) here to the messy ones in the spring photo taken from the same point of view. Removing the messy lower limbs has opened the space, making room for a new part of the garden ...


The new stone wall, finished just this fall ...




Partially completed steps from the house into the garden ...


Ilex verticillata (winterberry holly) ...





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