Camellias in Bloom

My late grandmother Chessie Pearce's camellia
Camden County, North Carolina
Photographed by Edward L. Pearce

This past Saturday the Coastal Carolina Camellia Society held its annual camellia show. According to the Society's FaceBook page, more than 1,000 blooms were entered. I intended to go across town to view the entries, but got busy and forgot until too late. What a great opportunity it would have been to learn more about camellias.

My grandmother, Chessie Pearce, grew a camellia tree in her garden. The tree is at least sixty-five years old but possibly much older. My brother Edward remembers our grandmother saying camellias should be planted on the north side of a pine and also remembers her calling her tree a japonica. Sometime during the 1970s temperatures dropped below zero and the freeze damaged Grandmama's tree. After Edward cut it back to about five feet, it revived. Now, forty-five years after our grandmother's death, the tree is approximately eighteen feet tall and blooms prolifically. 

Chessie Pearce's camellia tree is more than 65 years old
Photographed by Edward L. Pearce

My knowledge of camellias is not extensive. I'm familiar with japonicas and sasanquas, and with camellia sinensis, the tea plant. These are not, however, the only species of camellias and after doing a bit of reading, I realize it's quite possible that some of the camellias I believed to be japonicas are not.

Here's the local conventional wisdom: Japonica blossoms make beautiful cut flowers, perfect for floating in a glass bowl indoors or in a birdbath outdoors. Sasanqua blossoms don't last when cut. 

Where I live, the sasanquas usually bloom from September to November and japonicas bloom in the winter. 

This red and white variegated variety 
grows in my front yard

This cream colored camellia sporting 
a wealth of stamens grows near my front door
 

A pink and white variegated variety
 growing in my front yard

My one-third acre lot contains a number of camellias. Some, or all, of the seven that came with the house, when I bought it, had been transplanted here from Summerville when the prior homeowner moved his parents into assisted living. One of the seven budded yearly, but never bloomed, and succumbed during a cold winter several years ago. A single one of the remaining six is a sasanqua, which I've had cut back, but has resumed growth. I always assumed the other five were  of the japonica species, but after perusing the American Camellia Society's website this afternoon, I'm not so certain.

This white camellia japonica is one I bought, from a plant nursery or garden center, and planted perhaps as much as ten or twelve years ago. It's at the back of the lot and gets little sunlight. Perhaps that's why it's stingy with its gorgeous blossoms. 

My older japonicas produce seeds. In the last three years volunteers have sprouted under an old pink-blossomed tree. With varying success, I've transplanted seedlings to other spots in my yard. I've also given a few away.

When I intentionally planted camellia seeds in the past, either they didn't grow, or I forgot where I planted them and accidentally mowed them down. The seedlings are similar in appearance to those of the homely wild cherry trees that, due to bird droppings, each year produce hundreds of seedlings under my huge live oak and a variety of other shrubs and trees. 

My sister Martha Ann in northeastern North Carolina had success growing a camellia from a seed I gave her years ago. One of her animals, a goat, attempted to eat the small shrub, but now it's growing back.

This past August I harvested seeds from the five older japonicas

I have not yet taken on the task of identifying the varieties of my camellias. Nor have I been a particularly good steward of them in the past. I hope to remedy that.

On the grounds of the Berkeley County
Library, Daniel Island, SC

On the Rokko Island greenway, Kobe, Japan

As a result of having family members living in Japan, I have been able to view camellias in bloom at Tenryū-ji and other gardens in Kyoto, as well as, in and around Kobe. 

One of a group of camellia trees growing out of rock
 on a hillside above Kobe, Japan in late November

There are plenty of opportunities to see camellias blooming in the American South. At this time of year a stroll through older neighborhoods, such as the one where I live, is a treat for a camellia lover. 

Two weeks from today, Middleton Place begins its annual guided Camellia Walks. Botanist Andre Michaux is said to have introduced the camellia japonica there around 1785. 

This japonica by my laundry room thrives on afternoon sunlight but needs some TLC

Seed pods in situ

A volunteer that I transplanted

April at Tenryū-ji temple gardens in Kyoto, Japan

A leaf wants to hide this pretty pink blossom at Tenryū-ji

A variegated blossom at Tenryū-ji 

This one grows by my laundry room

Thank you for visiting The Traveling Gardener. 
Your comments are welcome.

Of Moonflowers and Morning Glories

Moonflower on the Verge of Unfolding

This photograph I took in October of 2009 inspired me to write the poem "Moonflower" which can be found on the website of the Poetry Society of South Carolina: http://www.poetrysocietysc.org/po1112/moonflower.html.

The Moonflower Saga

2009 was the first year that I had success growing moonflowers. Two or three years earlier I had purchased a packet of seeds at a country hardware store and planted them where I wanted them to grow, beside the trellises that support my carport. Those few that germinated failed to thrive, but that didn't stop me from trying again and again. Did I know then to soak the seed in water overnight and/or to score them? I'm not sure. It must have been in 2008 that I plopped a couple of leftover seeds in a Tuscan planter that sits against the workshop wall at the back of the carport. Much to my surprise the seeds germinated and the resulting plants produced one or two blossoms each. 

Ipomoea alba

In 2009 I planted only moonflower seeds in the Tuscan planter and had (for me) great success. I added a trellis to the planter so that the vines had somewhere to climb. Night after night in July I enjoyed the treat of a single blossom. I photographed the buds before they opened. I photographed newly opened flowers in late afternoon or just before dusk. I rose after midnight and used my camera's flash to take more photographs. In the morning I photographed the blossoms at various stages as they crumpled and drew into themselves. 

Later that summer and autumn I sometimes had the treat of two blossoms in a single night. Returning home late one evening, I saw a hummingbird moth dart away as the beams of my headlights illuminated the moonflowers. I thought I had seen a hummingbird, but a friend, who lives an hour further south and has great success with moonflowers, explained to me that I'd actually seen a giant moth.

Petticoat

Why do I love moonflowers? It's the combination of the heavenly fragrance, the beauty of the large flowers, and the rare opportunity to watch them unfurl.

You see, my 2009 moonflowers opened suddenly. Often I missed the unfurling, but when I witnessed a flower spring open, it was like magic. 

Now I harvest the seeds each year to plant the next, but I also buy new packets of seeds to increase the likelihood of thriving plants. In spite of these precautions, in 2010 and 2011 there were many nights when flowers opened, but they didn't always open completely and I saw none unfold suddenly. The openings I witnessed were gradual. Last summer a few of the buds didn't open at all. Some insect pest sealed the buds shut.

Moonflower Seedpods

This year in my ongoing attempt to cultivate moonflowers in varying locations I finally had a small - very small - triumph. One of the seeds I planted under a huge live oak germinated and the vines climbed up the arms of a small tree and produced two flowers. 

Dried Moonflower Seedpods and Seeds

This summer I have had less success than usual growing moonflowers in the planter under the carport. The reason? Last year it seemed like a good idea to grow moonflowers and morning glories together. The only morning glory that sprouted remained puny. This year the morning glories claimed victory. Although I spotted several moonflower seedlings early on, most seem not to have survived being without water during the three weeks I was away in June. Morning glories took over and thrived. One moonflower vine has managed to stay alive and has produced three or four blossoms over the course of the summer - in fact, two this week.

The Morning After

Morning Glories

For years I had only moderate success in growing morning glories. At best the vines would grow a couple of feet and I'd see a handful of blooms. Then two years ago I purchased a packet that contained a variety of morning glory seeds. I love blue flowers of all kinds and so hoped the blue morning glories shown on the package would proliferate. A single plant with blue blossoms did grow, but what really took off is one with flowers that, in appearance, remind me of petunia blossoms. I harvested what seemed like a bazillion seeds, but with this variety being so invasive, I've planted them sparingly. In the area where the first ones grew, volunteers flourish. The only reason I don't uproot these is that twice I've seen a hummingbird feed from them in late morning. 

Invasive Morning Glories

All the pictures included in this post are photographs I've taken of my own plants. Occasionally I spot someone else's prolific blue morning glories climbing a wall or porch railing. One of those sightings on the Charleston peninsula was what inspired me to plant morning glory seeds in the first place.

Please Post Your Comments
Some of you have tremendous success with moonflowers, achieving thirty or forty blossoms per night during the growing season. Will you kindly share your growing secrets in the comment area below?