Early is a gamble

Jasminum nudiflorum is among the earliest flowering of the shrubby plants. Aptly called winter jasmine, it may start blooming at the slightest hint of warmth in late winter. This year, at the Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Garden, a significant portion of the flowers were open by mid-February:

By February 22nd, it was nearly in full bloom:

Descriptions of its habit may be quite subjective. As I photographed the plant at left, one passerby described it as flopping. Now, it's possible that their glass is only half full. I didn't think to ask, but I did point out that they could, instead, think of the delicate green (all winter!) stems as arching, or gracefully cascading down the slope atop which it had been planted.

In my opinion, it seemed to me to be a particularly effective use for the plant, as it has a tendency to layer (root where branches touch the ground), thereby reducing erosion. Form and function combined!

It has been elsewhere described as vining. That might be the case in richer soils, or shadier situations. Although winter jasmine will tolerate a great deal of shade, such conditions will result in the formation of fewer flower buds.

Relatively inconspicuous during initial expansion (perhaps because they are too small and widely distributed to attract attention), partially developed red-tipped buds will open into the bright yellow, 6-petalled flowers.

In spite of numerous flowers, little or no seed development seems to occur. However, as I alluded to above, it may slowly spread by layering (as raspberries do, only at a more reasonable pace).

Aside from the tendency to lose flower buds in harsher winters, the only shortcoming, at least around here, is the unseemly lack of fragrance in a species of Jasminum. All in all, I find that winter jasmine is worth the gamble.

And the winner is...

Epimedium x versicolor 'Sulphureum' (foreground), and Epimedium x perralchicum ‘Fröhnleiten’ (background)

Epimedium x versicolor 'Sulphureum' seems to be the most commonly available of the Epimedium spp., but, for a showier dry shade/part sun groundcover, I would sooner recommend Epimedium x perralchicum 'Fröhnleiten’. Both are seen above in my garden where they get full late afternoon sun.

Epimedium x perralchicum 'Fröhnleiten’, with the foliage of Galanthus elwesii in the background. Yellow flowers are those of Stylophorum diphyllum (celandine poppy). 

Lindera, bacon, or both?

What's better than being married to someone who risks losing a hand to save you the last two slices of bacon from the mouths of ravenous teenagers, you ask?  (Editor's (wife) note:  NOTHING)

Growing Lindera benzoin (spicebush), one of the earliest shrubs (beaten out, here, by witchhazels) to bloom every year, that's what! 

Lindera benzoin (spicebush).

Okay, perhaps that is a little over the top. I get that not everyone is into bacon; it's not for everyone (my apologies/condolences to those who aren't permitted). I suppose it's equally possible that one might not be interested in growing a shade-tolerant shrub with fragrant flowers under a window that catches breezes.

Over 8' tall in 2008. Local deer seem to be slackers, so I cut it back myself in 2011

Heck, some of you might not even look forward to opening your windows to bring in that first breath of warm, fresh spring air (personally, the wait is killing me). Perish the thought of experiencing the frisson that might accompany inhaling the delicate perfume of those numerous little yellow flowers found in clusters up and down the slender, yet sometimes lengthy (see above), stems of the spicebush.

Individually insignificant, the tiny flowers are borne in overwhelming numbers. Certainly whelming numbers, at least.

I know, too, that a shrub which merely grows medium green, unvariegated, yet-tasty-to-the-larvae-of-the-beautiful-spicebush-swallowtail foliage which turns yellow in fall may be equally unappealing.

Even though mid-October (2009) this is pretty representative of average summer foliage, hints of fall color notwithstanding.

One year and six days later, full bore fall color.

An anomalous curled leaf conceals...

a spicebush swallowtail larva. Don't be fooled by the eyes; this is the posterior end.

Empty pupal case

And those little red berries it produces, reportedly eaten by songbirds, are certainly responsible for a scattering of seedlings around any but the cultivar 'Rubra' (I've never laid eyes on one yet) and probably represent a threat to any nearby Amur honeysuckle colony!

A pretty threat to Amur honeysuckle? You be the judge.

Never mind, either, how well it's adapted for use in one of those trendy rain gardens (in the wild it's commonly found growing in bottomlands [which have nothing to do with your derriere- grow up!]). Although it hasn't happened to the spicebush in my garden (northeast corner of the house, the bed surrounded by perforated drain pipe connected to the downspout), have reported that deer may make a meal of the slender branches. So, deer like it. I bet they don't like bacon, though.

However, I still understand that, like the many witchhazels (locally, they win the first-shrub-to-bloom contest), spicebush isn't for everyone.

Perhaps not even for some of you who DO like bacon.

Wordless Wednesday