My Grandmother's Canna Lilies

“Weeds are simply not allowed to grow [in her garden],” a newspaper article, circa 1950, said of my grandmother, Chessie Pearce. The article went on to report that she “has been most generous in giving cuttings and plants to her neighbors.”    

My grandmother loved to garden. In spite of living on a small family farm on the edge of the Great Dismal Swamp in North Carolina, she managed to amass an interesting collection of flowering plants. Her cannas were among my favorites. She grew two varieties: one bearing spiky red blossoms above chocolate-tinged foliage, and the other, green-leaved, boasting bright yellow petals with orange speckles.

My red canna: a hummingbird favorite

When I was a child my grandmother’s canna lilies grew so prolifically that even extras she disposed of in a swampy area beside a wide ditch grew tall and produced flowers. Cannas hanker for rich, moist soil and she provided it.

My yellow canna

After my grandmother died, her cannas lived on.  My mother planted some beneath our living room windows. While waiting for the school bus during the autumn mornings of my teen years, I watched hummingbirds drink nectar from the red flowers.

Flash forward many years. After I bought the house where I now live, my mother dug up rhizomes from my grandmother’s cannas and gave them to me to plant. I didn’t have much success at first. The plants survived, but didn’t thrive. Some years no blooms appeared. One year, leaf-curlers attacked the canna lilies. The next year I dug up the rhizomes and moved them from my sunbaked backyard to a circular bed shaded by the live oak out front. In the new location, leaves rose from the ground; while yellow flowers rarely appeared, the red ones never did.

Over the years I gave canna rhizomes to friends. The resulting plants performed well, blooming beautifully. Clearly, my friends have less sandy soil than I do.

Two summers ago I created a new flowerbed in the backyard and transplanted several of the cannas into it. Much to my delight, both the red and the yellow cannas gained height and bloomed. Soon a hummingbird noticed the spiky red flowers.

On Rokko Island, Kobe, Japan 

What I’ve failed to mention, up until this point, is that for years and years I searched for, but did not find, cannas that looked like the ones my grandmother grew. I’m not sure why I felt the need to find their counterparts, but I did. My quest to find the red and the yellow cannas continued as I scoured plant nurseries and public or private gardens. Every summer I scrutinized cannas growing in the town where I live, and in places where I traveled, but any red cannas I saw had solid green leaves or the flowers weren’t spiky. Many of the cannas growing in public places had orange or salmon colored blossoms.

Inverewe Gardens: Tropical foliage in the Scottish Highlands

Then, in July of 2010 while visiting family on Japan’s Rokko Island, I discovered the familiar yellow canna in front of a multi-family residence. Two months later I came across the spiky red canna with the chocolate tinged leaves at Inverewe Gardens in the Scottish Highlands.

The yellow canna cultivated by a gardener
on Japan's Rokko Island

The red cannas at Inverewe Gardens, 
a National Trust for Scotland property 

Now I have in my garden a third variety of canna lily. Last year during the Charleston Horticultural Society's annual plant sale, known as Plantasia, I bought an orange flowered canna with variegated, striped leaves. My Internet research indicates this variety is called Bengal Tiger.

How I wish I could have shared the Bengal Tiger with my grandmother. She would have adored its gorgeous tropical foliage.

The foliage behind this orange canna flower belongs to the variety with the spiky red flowers.

And this gorgeous leaf belongs to the orange flowered canna shown in the above photograph.

A Highland Garden

Each morning during late August of 2005, as I devoured poached eggs on toast and British bacon in the dining room of the Old Manse Guest House, I gazed across Loch Carron.  On the opposite side of the water, to the southeast of where I sat, lies Attadale Estate. The hues of its landscape changed often as clouds broke apart to allow the sunshine through or as mist transformed into steady rain.

The view across Loch Carron to Attadale Estate

While doing pre-trip research I had come upon the Attadale Estate website and, as a result, I knew the property included gardens open to the public and I knew of the fairly recent acquisition of a large fern collection.

If I could have walked straight across the loch from the B&B, I might have had enough stamina to get to Attadale by foot, but I had just completed six and a half weeks of radiation therapy and wasn’t fit enough to hike the more than seven miles, one way, around the sea loch.

In those days the village of Lochcarron still had a local taxi service. From the phone box in front of the village hall, I called the driver. The phone kept disconnecting and each time I reached her, I spoke at rapid speed, hoping to get across enough information to enable her to find me. When she arrived, I continued in revved up mode, but she remained tranquil and told me you can always tell when people are from town: they’re in a hurry. “On Lewis where I grew up, we say, ‘It’ll get done tomorrow – if it has to.’”

The exterior of the Estate owners' home was used
 as Major Maclean's residence  in the television series Hamish Macbeth

In 2005 I hadn’t yet converted to digital photography. My film supply was limited and I was stingy with each available 35 mm frame. As I look back through my small group of Attadale photographs, I am disappointed in the quality of the photos, but I’m even more disappointed in the omissions – the photographs I did not attempt. I clearly recall sitting in the Japanese garden, writing in my journal, and watching a white haired woman wearing tartan trousers trim a sculpted shrub. And according to my journal, “On the edge of the kitchen garden a yellow-beaked blackbird perched in a fuchsia bush and ate the fruit of the flower.” I remember walking through rows of vegetable beds.  Yet I have no photographic evidence of the Japanese and kitchen gardens.

My notes indicate a rhododendron dell and also a scenic overlook with a view of the house and the loch and the hills beyond and I recall that the grounds included a DIY/honor system tearoom as well as an area where garden visitors could purchase plants.

When a sudden rain shower erupted, I took shelter in a small geodesic dome that housed part of the fern collection, but mostly I hurried through the gardens far too quickly that afternoon. Having scheduled a time for the taxi to return, I didn’t want to keep the driver waiting. 

Seven years later, I much regret my haste.  In April of this year I spent parts of four days in Plockton, at the other end of the loch, doing volunteer work for the National Trust for Scotland, yet during my trip I had neither time nor opportunity to visit Attadale Gardens, even though the A890 road had just reopened after being closed for four months due to a rockslide.

By the way, Attadale Estate has its own train stop on the scenic Inverness to Kyle line. If you visit by train, just be sure to request a stop. And, of course, come back here and share your experience.

http://www.attadalegardens.com/

http://www.attadalegardens.com/visitor-info

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-highlands-islands-17797231

http://www.scotrail.co.uk/travelinfo/station/att.html


The Attadale house shows up in episodes of the television series Hamish MacBeth. The series DVDs can often be found in bookshops and libraries.

The Cupola House Gardens

Sometimes you just stumble across a beautiful garden. On a Monday morning in May, I made a detour while driving through North Carolina on US Highway 17. Edenton is home to the paternal grandmother in the novel I'm writing. In the past I had driven down the streets of Edenton in an effort to absorb the atmosphere, but I'd never gotten out and walked around. On that Monday last month I parked the car and set out on foot. 

Edenton, North Carolina's Cupola House

Somehow I didn't notice the Cupola House - at least not immediately. It's located next to the library and as a lover of books and libraries I was drawn inside to browse the collection. But I didn't stay indoors long. Instead, I carried on walking around the block, admiring historic homes and the bits of garden that were visible from the street. 

A gorgeous passionflower, of a different variety from those 

I'd seen before, grew on the wall in front of one old house.

So many lovely remnants of the past and so many charming gardens. What must it be like to stroll along these streets every day? 

Far right back: Pomegranate trees stretch skywards

The brilliant coral-colored blossoms on pomegranate trees in one backyard attracted my attention. I snapped a few quick photos over the fence, wondering whether the owners would mind. Then I saw the sign and realized this was the Cupola House, its colonial revival gardens open to the public. I continued around the side, gazing into the garden as I made my way toward the front entrance.  

What I love most about gardens from the American colonial era is that they combined beauty with practicality. The pleasure garden and the kitchen garden each had their place and sometimes that place was side by side, sometimes intertwined.

A brochure available in the back garden of the Cupola House provides a partial plant list. The following is but a sample of what grows in these heritage gardens: plum, crabapple, fig, loquat, dogwood, a variety of roses,  lemon balm, yellow flag iris, bluebell, foxglove, larkspur, hollyhock, garlic chives, thyme, tansy.

Yes, it was the pomegranate trees that first drew my attention to the Cupola House garden. What I didn't tell you is that in 2012 I'm having more success with my own pomegranate trees than I have in any year since I first planted them a decade ago. Three out of the four trees currently bear fruit. Seven pomegranates dangle from one tree, eleven from another, and sixteen from yet another. If all continues to go well, in the autumn I'll be spreading plenty of pomegranate love to friends and neighbors. 

The interior of a pomegranate I harvested last year from one of my own trees 

Volunteering on the Balmacara Estate

Earlier this year I had the opportunity to participate in a conservation camp sponsored by the National Trust for Scotland.  Jon Downie, the Trust’s Outdoor Action Coordinator, led our group of ten Thistle Camp volunteers as we assisted rangers with a variety of tasks on the Balmacara Estate in the Western Highlands.

Through the gorse we go

The meadow

On a morning late in April we dug up yellow flag irises in a secluded meadow on the Estate. In the afternoon we transplanted them in a former pasture fronting the scenic road that goes past Eilean Donan Castle and continues on toward the bridge to the Isle of Skye. 

Digging up flag iris rhizomes

Iris transportation

Because success in transplanting irises depends upon rhizome health, Jon taught us to inspect the irises before plunging our spades into the boggy meadow. He showed us how to easily determine the position of the rhizomes so that we could limit the damage we inflicted on the plants while digging. Yet even with our diligent efforts, we occasionally lifted up spindly fans of sword-shaped green leaves with no rhizome attached.

In the middle distance, a new home for yellow flag irises

We worked hard throughout our Thistle Camp. But the most difficult bit?  Saying good-bye at the end of the week to the Highlands and to fellow team members.

The 2012 Balmacara Thistle Camp team
This photograph taken for me by NTS Ranger Babs Macritchie

To learn more about the Balmacara Thistle Camp read my August 2012 guest post on the National Trust for Scotland Foundation USA blog:

http://www.ntsusa.org/blog/guest-post-balmacara-thistle-camp/

To learn more about the National Trust for Scotland's Balmacara Estate visit:

http://www.nts.org.uk/Property/Balmacara-Estate-Woodland-Walks/

To learn more about National Trust for Scotland Thistle Camps visit:

http://www.nts.org.uk/ThistleCamps/

Swan Lake Iris Gardens

There's something elegant about black swans. I associate them with Dawlish, the English town that serves as the fictional birthplace of Charles Dickens' character Nicholas Nickleby and with castle lakes in Germany. Black swans also reside on the premises of Sumter's Swan Lake, as do members of the other seven swan species, including the trumpet swan whose music carries magic across the water.

Copyright 2012 Frances J. Pearce
Camouflaged turtle (at top) swims toward pair of black swans

My visit to Swan Lake Iris Gardens in Sumter, South Carolina last week coincided with the town's annual Iris Festival. The festival features the Japanese iris which arrived at the lake in the first half of the twentieth century as horticultural "trash."  

I've long been an admirer of the bearded irises which thrived in my mother's garden. Dutch irises do well in my cottage garden and, just last month, I helped transplant yellow flag irises on the Balmacara Estate in the Western Highlands of Scotland.

But Japanese irises? I'd heard of them, but until last Friday I'd not experienced them, at least not in bloom. Not even during visits to Japan.

Copyright 2012 Frances J. Pearce

The gorgeous blossoms I saw in Sumter made me wish my garden would support these sun and water loving plants. I decided to take a chance. At the Master Gardener's tent I bought a plastic pot of  Japanese irises of the "Frilled Enchantment" variety. Neither these nor any of the other irises offered for sale were blooming. The lady who assisted me with my purchase explained that the mild winter seems to have affected the irises, decreasing the occurrence of blossoms. She suggested I buy a child's swimming pool to plant my Japanese iris in, but as of today, my "Frilled Enchantment" is directly in the ground in a low-lying area of my front yard. I hope to keep the soil there moist enough that a swimming pool won't be needed. And I hope I have more success with these beauties than I do with bearded irises.

Copyright 2012 Frances J. Pearce

For more information about Swan Lake Iris Gardens visit Sumter Tourism's blog: 

http://sumtertourism.wordpress.com/2012/05/18/swan-lakes-magic-rainbow/

UPDATE

"Frilled Enchantment" bloomed for me in early June of 2014.