“The name of this medium-sized, horticulturally important family is derived from the South African genus Amaryllis (Belladonna Lily). The family is widely distributed, especially diverse in the Mediterranean, South Africa and South America (particularly the Andes). Three genera are native in Australia: Crinum (Murray Lily), Calostemma (Garland Lily) and Proiphys (Brisbane Lily)….
“Many members of the family are sold as cut flowers, and numerous genera are common in cultivation. These include Agapanthus, Clivia, Galanthus (Snowdrop), Hippeastrum, Ipheion, Nerine, Amaryllis, Leucojum (Snowflake), and Narcissus (Daffodil and Jonquil), and the last three are recorded as naturalised in Australia. The genus Allium includes cultivated onions, leeks and garlic as well as A. vineale (Wild Garlic) and A. triquetrum (Three-cornered Garlic), which are significant weeds. White-flowered Nothoscordum borbonicum (Onion Weed) is almost cosmopolitan, and commonly troublesome in gardens.
“Most members of the family grow from a perennial bulb, which produces a cluster of basal leaves each season. Others, such as the robust herbaceous perennial Agapanthus grow from a rhizome. Leaves are often linear, and often distichous. In some species, such as Amaryllis belladonna (Belladonna Lily) the flowering stem appears before the leaves.”
“Gardeners account the amaryllis, of which there are numerous varieties, a proud plant, because even after the greatest care it refuses to blossom…. The number of flowers is commonly from eight to twelve, and the circumference of each about seven inches. The corolla in its prime has the colour of a fine gold tissue wrought on a rose-coloured ground, and when it begins to fade it is pink….
“In full sunshine it seems to be studded with diamonds; but, by candle-light, the specks or spangles appear more like fine gold-dust: when the petals are somewhat withered, they assume a deep crimson colour. The name of these beautiful plants is derived from a Greek word signifying to shine, sparkle, flash.”
Waken, thou fair one! up, Amaryllis! Morning so still is; Cool is the gale; The rainbow of heaven, With its hues seven, Brightness hath given To wood and dale: Sweet Amaryllis, let me convey thee; In Neptune’s arms naught shall affray thee; Sleep’s god no longer power has to stay thee, Over thy eyes and speech to prevail.
Hello!
This is the first of three posts featuring a couple of Amaryllis variants, whose appearance during my hunts through the haunted gardens is typically a sign of late summer or early fall — though I found most of these a bit earlier this year, perhaps owing to a warm and very wet summer season. As you can see from some of the photos below, they’re all noteworthy for producing flowers at the top of tall, thick stems, with the flowers bending in a graceful curve — often turning toward the source of light, even when they’re growing in the shade.
“Swamp Lily” is a common name for these plants as they’re often found in the wild at the edges of wetlands, and they may also be called Belladona Lily, Jersey Lily, Barbados Lily, or even Easter Lily — which is fun because none of them are actually lilies. And today I learned that a similar looking plant often called Amaryllis — popular to buy or give as gifts as we approach the winter holidays because their forced bulbs will bloom indoors — is actually Hippeastrum, though both Amaryllis and Hippeastrum are in the same plant family, Amaryllidaceae. This may or may not seem confusing.
“Dipladenia is one of the modern favorites in the list of conservatory climbers. The Gardener’s Record [pdf] thinks too much prominence cannot be given to it; for, ‘like many climbing plants, it blooms best when grown prominently forward near to the glass, and perhaps to perfection near to the roof of an intermediate house, with general temperature not below about 55 degrees.’
“Dipladenias are natives of Central America, and belong to the order of Dogbanes, a name given by Dr. Lindley to a certain class of plants, which I believe Linnaeus described as having contorted or twisted-like flowers, with corollas resembling a catherine-wheel firework in motion. To this family belong the Periwinkle, the Oleander, etc….
“With twining habit, and large graceful flowers nearly five inches in diameter, in form like a Convolvulus, and with color varying from pale pink or French white, to clear delicate rosy pink, I know not any more lovely climbing plant for summer, and what is commonly called early autumn. It may be grown from layers, from cuttings, and from seed.”
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This is the second of two posts with photographs of Dipladenia Rio White from my garden. The first post is Dipladenia Rio White (1 of 2). Moreso than in the previous post, you can see “pale pink” or “rosy pink” (described above) that appears in the blooms during their unfolding, color swatches that tend to be more apparent in the second or third blooming cycle — though this is one of my completely unscientific observations.
Did you know “moreso” isn’t a word? Allegedly, I say! When I typed the previous sentence, the computer ensquiggled “moreso” at me as a misspelling, and I of course just assumed the computer was wrong. It turns out that “moreso” should be written as “more so” or “more-so” — but I don’t like either of those so I’m sticking with “moreso.” I’ve already used it in five previous posts, which makes it a word as far as I’m concerned. And, like everything else in our modern era, it’s controversial — see More So Vs. Moreso: Which is the Correct Spelling? — so I think I can follow my own path.
“The large, convolvulus-like, and exquisitely-colored blossoms of this plant are hardly matched by those of any twiner with which I am acquainted, and, under proper management, its charming flowers are produced very abundantly for some two or three months in succession. Notwithstanding that, it is, perhaps, the finest of all twiners which we possess, it is by no means universally cultivated; for in the hands of many it is found to bloom very shyly, or not at all, consequently it has never received the attention which it deserves.
“To insure success in its culture, a light, warm, moist situation and a brisk bottom-heat are indispensable, and where such accommodation cannot be commanded, it is useless to attempt to grow it; with proper convenience, however, it grows very rapidly and blooms abundantly. Cuttings, made of short-jointed, half-ripe shoots, root freely if inserted in sandy, peaty soil, covered with a bell-glass, and afforded a sharp bottom heat….
“In autumn, gradually reduce the supply of water, expose the plants to a circulation of warm, dry air, in order to ripen the wood, and, when this is effected, remove them to a house where the temperature may average from [50 to 60 degrees], and allow them a period of rest, giving no water to the soil during that season. Towards the end of January, or as soon afterwards as circumstances will admit, turn the plants out of their pots, shaking away a portion of the old soil, so as to be able to repot them in fresh materials without using larger pots, at the same time cutting back the shoot to a strong bud near the base. Be careful to have the fresh soil in a moist, healthy state, so as to prevent the necessity of giving much water until growth shall have commenced, and the roots taken to the soil.”
White petals unfurl like delicate fans, Yellow centers aglow in fading light, Dipladenia blooms on weathered back steps, A graceful display as day turns to night.
Autumn whispers through waning warmth, These flowers defy the season’s chill, Their brightness a lingering memory of summer, On steps where time stands still.
Hello!
Every spring for the past bunch of years, I’ve gone to one of the nearby garden centers to buy six dipladenia plants. I come home and dig out the previous year’s spent roots from six pots, replace them with the new plants, then set three pots on each side of my back steps. I’ll sometimes choose red dipladenia or sometimes pink — but I especially like these white ones with the yellow centers (officially known as “Dipladenia Rio White”), pictured below. Once they start blooming, they make a nice bright visual pathway from my back door to the courtyard, producing vines that are just robust enough to be attractive and shapely, but only require a trimming or two all season to keep the human or the dog from tripping on them.
I had tried other plants in these same six pots in the past, but have kept returning to dipladenia since — it seems to me — squirrels will leave these plants alone. Any stems or vines they chew or slice with their Freddy Krueger fingernails will exude a sticky white substance they probably don’t like. I don’t like it, for sure; so I’m guessing squirrels don’t like it either and so tend to stay away.
Dipladenia also has a strong root system, even in medium-sized pots, and isn’t bothered by the torrential waterfalls that flow from the double-peaks of my roof during thunderstorms. And here in the southeast, they’ll bloom from April until right about now (or longer, in warmer autumns) so are especially fetching at dusk when receding sunlight catches the contrasting white, yellow, and dark green colors. Late summer and early autumn — when many other flowering plants have passed their blooming stages but fall color hasn’t yet appeared — are my favorite times to photograph them.
If you read the quotation at the top, from the very old book The Floral World, Garden Guide, and Country Companion (sometimes shortened to “The Floral World and Garden Guide”), you know now how to propagate dipladenia in a greenhouse, 1879-style. I don’t actually have a greenhouse — though I’ve often wondered if I could ensqueeze one on my property somehow — but was impressed by how concisely (though somewhat old-Englishly) the author Shirley Hibberd described the process. It would be fun to try it, so if you do, let me know.
If you’ve been here before, you know I often hunt down poems about what I photograph and post them along with one or two non-fiction selections about each kind of flower or plant. I’ve written before — see here and here — about discovering all sorts of excellent books and poetry on the Internet Archive, and how much I’ve learned by doing that. But the Internet Archive (including my favorite part, “Books to Borrow”) has been offline since October 9, after suffering a data breach and a cyberattack — one so significant that it’s gotten its own Wikipedia page: Internet Archive Cyberattack. The organization is still recovering from the attack over a week later, and remains offline until… well, until it’s not offline any more.
Having used it for several years now, I can honestly say that I’ve found it indispensable, and I’m really missing my fingertip access to thousands and thousands of poems. So for today’s poem — “Autumn Dipladenia” — I instead asked my imaginary friend (and amateur poet) ClaudeAI to produce some poetry by prompting it to “write about the Dipladenia variant with white flowers and yellow centers, in pots on someone’s back steps, as they appear in late afternoon autumn light.” After a bit of back and forth with me, it developed that two-stanza poem, which surprisingly placed the plants on “weathered back steps” — which is how my steps look in real life, though I didn’t mention it when asking for the poem. Apparently ClaudeAI has (somehow!) sneaked a peek at my back yard; and I’ll leave you to decide if the poem is any good or not (it does have some pretty good imagery).
From “Question Drawer: Treatment of Lantanas” in The Canadian Horticulturist (1899), Volume XXII by Fruit Growers Association of Ontario:
“Question: Sir, how should four-year-old lantana be treated?
“Answer: The lantana is a shrubby little plant, which after a long period of blooming should be rested by witholding water any more than may be necessary to keep them alive. When beginning to make new growth after resting, they should be repotted firmly into good rich soil, and the top should be severely pruned back. More water will be required as the plants begin to grow freely. Syringe the foliage frequently to keep the plants free from the red spider.”
So tiny, your thin, colored wings, painted pale-tan with blue spots, entire body no bigger than the lantana bloom you perch upon….
Small wings fluttering. you drink all the nectar you can find buried deep inside each flower, long, thin, tubular tongue mining the last drop. Then you wobbly-bobbly fly to the next blossom, silent as a rainbow, seeking more sugared, life-sustaining juice, desire pangs never completely sated, always hungry….
As easily entertained as I can be, I thought calling lantana a “shrubby little plant” (in the quotation up-top) was quite funny. It is indeed shrubby, but whether it’s little or not depends on your experience. Those whose photographs I show here are little because they’re restricted to the pots I scrunched them into, but if you move lantanas from pots to the ground for a year or so, they’ll succeed at filling the available space.
I have a pair of previously-potted Mary Ann Lantana plants in my front yard, which I’ve allowed to grow a bit wild for two seasons since they got frozen nearly to death a couple of years ago — and they’ve gone pretty quickly from being little shrubbies to taking over an 8-foot by 4-foot section of the yard. When or whether or not one should drastically cut back lantana can be controversial in Gardening World, but I’m only about a week away from heading out front and dramatically hacking them close to the ground — sort of like Joan Crawford did with her roses, but without the hysterical psychosis.
