I grow a lot of Panicle Hydrangeas; Summer Hydrangeas, they are sometimes called.  These plants are large, upright deciduous shrubs which produce white diamond-shaped flower heads, which look more like those of the Oakleaf Hydrangea.  Those flower heads are called “panicles” by botanists.

The grandmother of all of the Panicle Hydrangeas is called “P.G.”  or “Pee Gee,” in America, which stands for Hydrangea paniculata ‘Grandiflora.’  It came over on a boat from China, landing in Newport, Rhode Island, in 1861.

You can still see P.G. Hydrangeas today, especially on older properties, like old farm houses and Victorian-era homes.  They flower a soft white in mid-summer, and hold the blossom heads until they dry to a beautiful rose/buff.  You can even leave the dried flower heads on through the winter, to add interest.  In addition, they are very tolerant of heavy soils, cold and drought.

The only drawback with P.G. is that the shrub has a habit that could be described as “floppy.”  It’s a fast-growing shrub, and isn’t terribly picky about which way it goes.  The weight of the flower heads can bend branches down.  Without care, it can become a malformed mess.

That’s why  some of the newer selections available today are so much more common in American gardens than P.G..  ‘Tardiva,’ the Late Summer Hydrangea,  grows more upeight, and produces longer, whiter flower heads.  It’s branches are more stout, and so they hold the plants more intact.  The selection named ‘Unique’ produces probably he largest flower heads of any Panicle Hydangea, while ‘Pink Diamond’ flowers white, but these flowers quickly age to a deep pink.

‘Limelight,’ on the other hand, produces flower heads that begin their cycle bright green, and mature to white, before aging to dusky rose. ‘Limelight has been the media darling for about the past five years or so.  I still like ‘Tardiva’ best.

‘Quickfire’ is another popular new selection, which will probably outdistance ‘Pink Diamond.’ as it’s flowers turn a deeper shad of pink, and even earlier in the summer.  ‘Little Lamb’ is supposed to be a dwarf cultivar, but I have seen nothing but pictures, so I don’t know how it performs.

Performance is very important to me.  That’s why I grow as many plants as I can.  I get to prune early and often, so I can get well-balanced, healthy plants form the start.  I can also fertilize at my own discretion, which means not-so-much, unlike most commercial nurseries, which pump their plants so full of chemicals that they can have real problems acclimating to real garden conditions when planted.

I’m running some informal trials with some of these Panicle Hydrangeas.  (And I still like the grandmother of them all, P.G..  It us takes a little longer in training.)  I’ll let you know how it goes.

So here I am laying flat for a few days, biding my time between my bigger projects.  I don’t have as much in the tank as I used to.  I need more time to recover.  But I see some things more clearly.  And I know more stuff than I did, back when I could go all day and all night, never missing a beat.

This is what Girlfriend just reminded me of.  “Remember when we were just driving around back in the fall, when we first started dating, and then the winter and the spring, just looking at plants and talking about plants?” she said.  “Remember all those fabulous stories you told me about all those trees and shrubs?”

She’s right. When we still had 12″ of snow on the ground here in  March in Charlottesville, when we were touring neighborhoods on weekday mornings before she went to work at noon, I’d spot some particular shrub and launch into a passionate diatribe, providing her with, of course, way more information than the average citizen has any need for.

This 'Winter King' hawthorne--a Bob Simpson introduction, Vincennes Nursery, 1960--is one of a group planted above the Shell Station in Rose Hill neighborhood. Girlfriend and I drove by countless times during the winter--and I even found some English recipes for the edible berries.

But she liked it.  She was enchanted. “That’s what you oughta be  blogging about, McVicker,” she would say.  “That’s what somebody oughta be paying you for.

The “paying you for” part might be a stretch.  Don’t get me wrong.  I wouldn’t mind.  But it’s a small market.  As I’ve said a hundred times, in every lecture and public forum that I’ve been given over the past five years: “Horticulture is no longer a part of the American culture.” Certainly not like it is in Europe.  Not like it is in Japan.

An impressive sweep of Vitex (Chaste Tree) next to the Washington Park pool. These beat the more popular Butterfly Bush hands down--just as colorful and fragrant but, with proper pruning, growing into a gorgeous small tree. Not to mention those medicinal uses going back thousands of years.

And not like it was here in the mid-20th Century, when my grandfathers and uncles knew everything anyone needed to to know about tomatoes and cucumbers and cabbage;  when my grandmothers and aunts knew all the names of all the flowering shrubs and when they bloomed, and which ones smelled the best, and which ones dried the best, and how to do all those things.

No offense.  So much is going on today, and most human brains are finite in heir capacity to intake and digest.  And there are so many options available. I see the young ones practicing on “Madden 11″ or  glamming it up on some social networking site.  Older ones I know are more interested in mastering email, or resting in front of the tube or, on rare occasions, curling up with a good book.

Gardening is rapidly falling from favor. Especially  ornamentals.  People have no use for trees and shrubs unless they’re in flower.  Then they want to know the names.  Then they want them to be “low maintenance.” Even when they’re not.

Of course, there are exceptions to very rule.  I am one.  I know more about this stuff than I should.  I spent my time on this earth learning all I could about the plants  and about their stories and about their names.  I can tell you, for instance, that Forsythia, with its long, arching stems of bright yellow flowers, is named afer a Scot named Forsyth, and I’m not talking about the white-haired, bourbon-soaked patriarch from “Dynasty.”

I spent so much time learning about this stuff that sometimes I make the joke that I can’t  balance my checkbook but I know a thing or two about  plants.  Some people think that’s funny.  Others are horrified. (Truth is, I don’t have to, because I can check my balance on the internet!)

So this is my rant for this evening.  And here is my pledge to you: that I will tell you some stories.  About how plants were named.  About their seasons of flower and of fruit and their uses.  And any other little tidbit I can use to stimulate interest in this great body of the natural world, the best world  know.

I wanted to post the plant list here, for those interested.

Plant List

1       Hydrangea paniculata ‘Tardiva’   Late Summer Hydrangea                                     4-5’     10 gal.

1          ‘Summer Snowflake’  Viburnum                                                                                  2-3’       7 gal.

3         Cephalotaxus harringtonia ‘Drupacaea’    Japanese Plum-Yew                            21-24”   3 gal.

1            ‘Neon Flash’ Spirea                                                                                                      18-24”   3 gal.

2            ‘Shirobori’ Spirea                                                                                                         18-24”   3 gal.

2            Ilex glabra ‘Densa’                Compact Inkberry Holly                                              2-3’    3 gal.

3            Bearded Iris                                                                                                                                 1 gal.

3            Stachys ‘Helen Von Stein’              Lamb’s Ears                                                                     1 gal.

5            Autumn Fern                                                                                                                             3” pot

5            Dianthus ‘Firewitch’                     Cottage Pinks                                                                  3” pot

4            Heuchera ‘Palace Purple’            Coral Bells                                                                       3” pot

10          Ceratostigma plumbagoides       Plumbago                                                                         3” pot

10          Ajuga ‘Caitlin’s Giant’                  Bugleweed                                                                        3” pot

I divided the Lamb’s Ears and the Ajuga on-site to give me clumps of different sizes to work with, and to cover more ground.

The End.

I finally finished this cute little courtyard garden over in Ednam.  I say “finally” because I had to wait for the roofing company to finish,  which took about 10 days.  It also got really hot here, which, of course, slowed everything down.  We had to take our time.

This is after we cleared the site.

When we started, the courtyard was planted with seven or eight shrubs in poor condition, which bore no apparent relationship to one another.  So we dug them all up.  David Inge, in fact, is preparing the final shrub for harvest in the photo above. We left only the large Japanese Maple in the corner, which served as an cooling focal point, and a sweep of Lilies-of-the-Valley, which were growing nicely beneath.

We prepared more bed space outside the courtyard wall.

We prepared an additional garden bed outside the wall to make he whole space feel larger, and to provide a home for the Vitex (Chaste Tree) which the lady of the house had already purchased.  We added topsoil and organic matter to all the beds, and then carved out spaces for the stone work.

Dry Pond with stone walkway behind.

We started with a Dry Pond, which helped to balance the Japanese Maple, and will be interesting to look at any time of year.  We filled the bottom with crushed stone, covered that with geotextile, and then covered that with large, flat stones.  This move will provide extra drainage, which may be needed in the case of a heavy downpour.  We then built up the sides with stone.

We also built a broad stone walkway over to the water faucet to add more character, and to provide a little work space.

Completed walkway and dry pond.

On the other side of the brick walkway, we added a couple of stone pads: one for better access to the garage and the other as sort of a stepping off place for heavy traffic

Cut-across for better access to garage.

After we finished most of the stone work, we graded, laid out the shrubs, and planted.

The layout in progress.

Next, we planted the perennials and mulched.  It looked like this…

The finished product outside the courtyard.

Young residents taking advantage of photo op.

So in the end, everyone was happy, as you can see.  Even the bear.

I recently changed my profile photo on Facebook. It’s a picture of me, at a church cookout, crawled up underneath a little weeping japanese maple, with nothing sticking out but my legs and feet. Like I’ve taken a dive under a ’57 Chevy. McVicker as Shade Tree Mechanic. Really.

McVicker as Shade Tree Mechanic. Really.

This is my favorite party trick. I prune plants and provide a running commentary for the benefit of the host, and for the amusement of those gathered. It gives me practice for the pruning workshops we do in the winter and spring. It’s also more constructive, and somewhat less off-putting than donning the traditional “lampshade crown.”

At this particular party, I walked up to the hostess and engaged her in conversation about this japanese maple, which was located just off the patio. I asked her if she ever thought about pruning the plant, to better display the character of the branch patterns, which I think is the most compelling feature of weeping japanese maples. Pruning would also improve he circulation of air and light through the plant, which hugely contributes to sustaining a healthy maple.

McVicker addresses the crowd before the game begins...

She admitted that she knew that something should be done, but that she just didn’t know what to do. The plant was so dense, in fact, that her cat regularly slept on top of it. “I think I can help here,” I said. “Sure,” she replied. “Go for it.”

“Let me get my shears out of the truck.”

By now a small crowd had gathered above the patio. Since the plant had never been touched, and because I wanted to leave that spot on top for the cat to nap, I decided to make just 7 large cuts this year. I announced this to the little gallery. Crowd reaction was mixed. I heard, “Well. Go ahead and start cuttin.” I heard, “He can’t do that!” And finally, “You don’t know whether he’s just gonna ruin it.”

Color commentary came courtesy of Shirley (far left), Vivian, Kendra, Lelia and Betty.

See, that’s the fun part of this whole proposition for me. It’s like a high wire act. There exists in the audience an element of doubt. But I know I can do it, and maybe even “wow” a few people in the process. And so, as the crowd held its collective breath, I slipped out onto the wire. I started cutting.

Okay, I didn’t exactly just started cutting. I crawled up underneath the maple, and looked up.

A view from inside--no light and air circulating through there.

I divided the plant into four sections in my mind. I then considered each section, one at a time. I saw swirls of branches crossing over one another. I saw competing structures; as two or more branches became twisted and intertwined, occupying the same space. And of course, I saw plenty of deadwood.

I started with the deadwood. I do that a lot, especially if I’m having trouble deciding where to start. Deadwood be removed at any time. And certainly, if it’s gone, the air and light will move more freely throughout the plant. Plus, I get a better look at the subject.

Dead twigs on japanese maples often snap off more easily than the can be cut. If I could snap these dead twigs without use of the pruning shears, then I could do a tremendous amount of cleaning within he plant without even touching my shears. The Covenant of the Seven Cuts would remain unbroken.

Suddenly, dead stems were snapped off and whisked away. Branch structures were exposed; crossing and competing structures were examined and judged. And each section was assigned two major cuts. Let’s see; four sections, two cuts apiece. That’s eight. Somehow, I needed to cut down to seven cuts. I needed to cut one cut.

Naturally, I started by removing the worst offenders in every section, crawling out and stepping back on occasion just to check. I also tried to provide the audience with an active, engaging play-by-play. I always find it helpful to describe what I’m doing. It helps to allay the fear; to relieve the sense of apprehension.

Pam, the homeowner, started getting into the act, too.

After five cuts, I evaluated what was left,, and squeezed off the last couple of cuts, trying hard to leave some “feathers” to shade the top, as japanese maples can suffer from sunburn, if stems which have spent their entire life in relative dark are suddenly exposed to summer sun and heat. And as I emerged from beneath the maple with the seventh severed branch in hand, I was greeted by a warm smattering of applause, the kind one hears at a golf match.

After seven cuts, daylight! Note the flash didn't even go off, giving an indication of how much those cuts counted

Now, I have the hostess’ consent to revisit this plant whenever I choose, which will probably be in the early spring, when I can be more aggressive. In some ways, I can’t wait to really get in there and “let fly.” But I will not ever want to prune away more than 1/4 of the canopy at any one time. With most trees and shrubs, I find the best approach is to do most of the heavy structural pruning just before bud break in the early spring, and then come back a few weeks later and correct and redirect the plant’s energy, with just a few little cuts here and there.

So there you have it; my new party trick. Now you know: if your japanese maple needs a makeover, or if your favorite flowering shrub is begging for a haircut, then just have me over for dinner on the deck. Or throw a barbeque in your back yard. I’ll bring my pruning shears. Lampshades can be optional.

A mop no longer--this Japanese maple now looks lighter, more airy.

Boxwoods took a beating last winter. With all those long, supple branches, held down for all those long weeks by the weight of all that snow and ice, they really took a beating. A Genuine Beatdown. And now we find ourselves halfway through the summer, still looking at all those boxwoods, all over Charlottesville, in the very center of Boxwood Country, peeled back like bananas, having spent all those long winter months encased in a crust of snow and ice.

Every Saturday at the Charlottesville City Market, people with broken boxwoods ask me what to do. I want to say, “Get rid of ‘em. Don’t plant boxwoods.” But I don’t because I know what would happen: Those boxwood-happy Virginians would glare at me as though I should be arrested as a heretic. (I know this from experience.) And while it’s true that I personally see nothing stately, or enchanting, or even redeeming about Boxwoods–English, American, Korean, or otherwise–I do know how to fix them, after they’ve been delivered an awful beatdown by months of snow and ice.

I tie them up. With twine. Specifically, Lehigh #530. $1.99 at Southern States.

This is an after shot of a boxwood repair in Greenleaf Terrace. Still kicking myself that I failed to get a before. But believe me, those boxes were splayed like a banana peel after the fruit is eaten.

Success with the twine technique starts in the center of the broken boxwood. Well, it actually starts with the removal of all the dead wood in the plant, just like in any other pruning project. So you must examine the bent branches, one by one. Some stems may be split in the center. If the split is so severe that I can see daylight through it, then I usually head the branch all the way back to new growth. You have to be ruthless about it. Even though these branches may seem to be supporting healthy growth now, they are bound to decline over time, draining the plant of energy.

Next I consider the stems that are not split, but have fallen out of place. I lift each branch up, and try to determine its original place. Then I locate a strong, usually upright main stem across the center of the plant. I cut maybe 2-3 feet of twine, and I tie one end of the twine near the end of the bent stem in question. I then thread the twine around the strong upright, and try to draw that bent stem back into its original place. And when the bent branch looks like it’s back where it’s supposed to be, then I tie it off, cut off the excess twine, and step back a few paces to see if what I’ve done looks natural. Sometimes I have to retie the twine to a different spot on the branch. Sometimes I have to find a different upright branch around which to draw the bent stem back into its place. I may even have to drive a stake into the ground at the center of the plant, and use it as an upright to draw branches back where they should go.

But that’s the method. I repeat this procedure, drawing all the distorted branches back toward the center of the plant, one by one, until everybody’s fairly well back in place. If I’m trying to cover a hole left by the removal of a broken or split branch, then I may draw a branch a little beyond its original spot.

This is what the boxwood looks like from the inside looking out.

And then I will step back and look at the plant in its entirety. I let my eye follow around the outline of the plant, to see whether it looks natural. I may prune off a little piece sticking up here or there, so that the outline flows more naturally.

Finally, I prune across the bottom of the plant; a little move I call “pruning for definition.” This is something I do almost every time I prune. I know from experience, that if a nice, even space exists between the ground and the lowest foliage, a plant stands out better. This space may be only a few inches, but it’ll help everything. By pruning the plant evenly across the bottom, not only will air and light circulate better through the center of the plant, but it will also look better to most people. So at the end of the process, not only are the bent branches restored to their original places, but the whole plant has taken on a neater appearance.

Of course, this twine technique isn’t limited to just boxwoods. It works with any shrub that’s been distorted by the ravages of winter. And if you can tip-prune a branch of a shrub to take the weight off, it may spring back to someplace close to where it should go. In that case, you may be able to tie off to a strong lateral branch directly above the injured party. to achieve the desired effect.

So go out and buy some twine. Tie up your broken boxwoods, one stem at a time. Oh, and the sooner, the better. Don’t wait till July is done.

The boxwoods on the opposite side of the house look a bit more scraggly, but the branches have months before frost to grow strong and harden off in their new position.