Wayside Gardens Voices

Narcissus, Daffodils, and Jonquils: Etymology

In Greek mythology, Narcissus was a young man of unparalleled beauty who was so entranced by his own reflection in a pond that he wasted away gazing lovingly on his own form.  Where he sat on the shore, a flower of similar beauty, the Narcissus, grew, leaning lightly, as if to gaze into the water.

I always find the stories behind plant names interesting.  Many of them have been lost to time, of course, but that only makes those that we do know more interesting.  Then, there are those about which we speculate, but cannot be certain.  "Daffodil", for instance, is thought to come from the Asphodel flower, a plant that was commonly planted near graves in Ancient Greece.  The Asphodel Meadows, one section of the Underworld in Greek mythology, was thought to be an endless plain of these flowers.  This was the section where the dead who had led unremarkable lives spent Eternity.  The "D" in "Daffodil" most likely came from the Dutch article "de," which would have been placed before the name ("De Asphodel," more commonly pronounced "De Affodil"). 

The term Jonquil, which is still sometimes used for all Narcissus (especially in the Southeastern US), is somewhat more straightforeward.  It comes from the Spanish diminuitive form of junco, a type of reed.  In the strictest sense, the term Jonquil refers only to types of Narcissus related to the species Narcissus jonquilla, which has reed- or rush-like leaves (hence the name).  The use of this name to generally refer to Narcissus is mostly fading away, and it is technically incorrect, but I am loath to try to correct a common name, especially one that is as much fun to say as is Jonquil.

Wisteria and other Flowering Vines

Here at Wayside Gardens, we always appreciate being mentioned by newspapers.  I especially enjoyed this article in the San Francisco Chronicle, because it recommended us as a source for trumpet vines.  I'm a great lover of flowering vines, so that put a big smile on my face.  I suspect that my love for flowering vines comes from growing up looking forward each year to the Wisteria blooming all over town.  Every spring pine groves all over town explode into purple, and the purple flowers hang thick on almost every tree up and down the older streets.  They stick around for much of the summer, but here Wisteria and Daffodils mean spring has arrived, and all the flowers of the season will be following soon behind.

As I've grown older, though, I've grown to love all sorts of flowering vines.  The hummingbirds love my trumpet vine (a Campsis 'Mme. Galen') that's happily climbing a sunny wall at my mother's house, and I've been lovingly tending some pink rose vines on an arching lattice for years now.  Over the years I've had several Clematis vines (it's almost an addiction, with so much variety of both color and shape), but I think that my current favorite is my Clematis Bourbon.  My sister loves to steal my flowers and float them in a crystal bowl of water as a centerpiece.  Fortunately, it produces so many flowers throughout the summer that I don’t mind.  Even after years of propagating flowering vines, though, I still get a thrill each year when I first spot those wonderful amethyst Wisteria vines for the first time, and it's still my favorite vine by far.

The Classic Rock Garden

Planting a rock garden is one of those projects that really allows the gardener to become an artist. Texture and color are paramount when planning a rock garden, and beyond a few conventions, the yard becomes an uncarved piece of marble, bracing for the sculptor's creative touch. The touch must be sensitive, however, because the objective is to simulate an alpine environment. Alpine ecosystems exists in the outcrops above the tree line in mountainous areas. The air is too thin to support trees, and the alpine plants thrive in this cool rocky environment. One cannot create the thin atmosphere, but alpine plant life, rock formations, and soil conditions are within the range of the home gardener's spade.

The choice of rock largely depends on local availability, and for the sake of thriftiness, local rock is the best choice. Porous rocks like sandstone and tufa are preferred by the plants, limestone works well in rural areas, but will bleach in the more polluted areas near cities. The stones should be of various sizes up to about 60 lbs.(27 kg). The plants will not like anything smooth like granite. According to conventional standards for aesthetically pleasing rock gardens, one never mixes types of rock or uses broken concrete (concrete will also be more susceptible to environmental conditions).

There are a few things to consider when choosing alpine plants for a rock garden. If the intention is to have a garden feature that is interesting throughout the seasons, plants chosen must bloom at various times and provide color when others have faded. Choosing shrubbery and small trees with interesting architecture will ensure that a rock garden is interesting even through the bleakest winter. The trees and shrubs will affect the overall look, providing height and shape to the rock garden. The flowering and carpeting plants will add most of the color.

Early in winter, Helleborus will be the reliable source of color, but as winter winds down, Iris, daffodils, and crocus will start to peak out from behind the stones. Choosing spring plants requires moderation and keeping in mind the overall objective of an architecturally interesting feature-- clematis and ramonda are great spring flowers for the rock garden. The summer offers similar abundance of choice, but low-growing bright flowers like phlox and dianthus work best. For fall, carpeting plants, cyclamen, and early crocus plants do really well.

John Durst
Wayside Gardens Voice

Daffodil Mt. Hood

Kay,

Mt. Hood is a fine Daffodil for the south. My buddy in south Texas grows it in a big patch with King Alfred Improved where his lawn used to be. He's one of these fellows who won't grow anything introduced later than the second World War, for reasons I've never been able to fathom. But I must admit that the combination of bright white and yellow looks good even from a distance. Jim -- my Texas buddy -- says that water makes all the difference to bulbs in his climate, and that if you don't get a wet enough winter, you'd better start watering in January or so. I don't think things have ever gotten that extreme here in Greenwood (though we still call ourselves zone 7b instead of 8, which is where we really are these days climate-wise), but it's an interesting point.

Mt. Hood is kind of fun because when it first opens, the whole thing is a sort of cream color. The perianth fades pretty quickly to white, but the trumpet -- it's one of the Giant Trumpets, you know -- remains off-white for some time before finally bowing to the inevitable. Once you've got a big planting you can see the blooms at all stages at once, since the older ones will come up and open sooner than the johnny-come-latelies.

All I know about Mt. Hood is that the RHS took its time recognizing this Daffodil's worth. The variety was introduced in the late '30's and I don't believe the RHS gave it the nod until the '90's -- hope the breeder wasn't counting on that Award of Merit in his or her own lifetime!

By the way, if you want to take a leaf out of Jim's book, King Alfred Improved won't let you down here in South Carolina either. Say what you will about King Alfred Improved -- it's like poor Stella de Oro, too commonly used to be appreciated -- it blooms anywhere, and those flowers are huge.

End of sermon.

Over and out,

Eb