Late winter camellias

Camellias are a stalwart in Southern US gardens, and every old house has at least one.

We have four, one in front and three on the side.

I thought that this would be a wash-out camellia year because of the hard winter, but it hasn't turned out that way.

Apparently, the exceptionally cold temperatures delayed bud maturation, and many camellias are in full flower now, quite late compared to normal years, at least in my memory.

The camellia in the front is the only one that I know by name: Professor Sargent. A wonderful deep red, its frilly flowers resemble carnations, not individually attractive to me, but in masses, they're lovely against the gray granite of our 70+ year old house.

The corner camellia is white, with a faint pink striping. It usually gets zapped by winter freezes, but this year's buds, delayed by cold weather, are flowering now.

The camellias by the kitchen door are pink, and quite hardy. They're flowering now, too, and have many lovely flowers emerging between the frost-bitten buds.

Alas, camellias don't exactly 'work for a living' - one of my screens for a plant worthy of wildlife-friendly gardens, but they're tough, hardy, and long-lived, and illuminate winter landscapes and cheer the heart of the gardener. That works for me.

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Preparing garden beds

Now there are lots of camellia flowers out the kitchen window.

A couple of years ago, I set up what I call the 'satellite' garden.

Originally meant as an experimental (uh, I'm not really expanding my beds, I said to myself) sort of plot, I decided to incorporate them into permanent beds to expand my (rudimentary) rotation scheme. Also, as the holly hedge near my main vegetable garden has gotten larger, my main vegetable garden is even more shaded in the winter than it used to be. It's a great summer plot, OK in fall, but only gets several hours of sun in the late afternoon, even now, in early March.

So, to have a sunnier space for late winter and early spring crops, my satellite garden is great. Last spring, a hungry young woodchuck was a nemesis, and was relocated, but a relative has now appeared, and I'm determined to find a better place for him/her (the Havahart trap is set).

The unseasonably mild weather has made preparing beds for carrots, beets, chard, and potatoes (as well as preparing warm-season beds) a joy. What fun to be able to be out there digging in early March!

Since this is the second year of serious cultivation for most of these beds, they still have lots of clayey soil, so more compost, composted manure, and mushroom compost is needed. I'd limed all the beds in the fall (our soil is quite acidic), so hopefully, that will help, too. I'm afraid this is all very unscientific (not recommended) and I DO need to do a soil test.

But the beds are looking quite nice, and are ready to plant.

And seedlings are popping up in my flats and containers. Hooray!

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A late winter camellia flower

An unusually warm sunny day and seedlings popping up (snow pea, spinach, lettuce, and mustard) have me thinking spring is just about here. I saw the first (native) spring wildflowers on Friday: a single trout lily, a small bloodroot flower (where hundreds will be later), and several Oconee Bells (a locally rare species that's a regional treasure).


But late this afternoon, this lone camellia flower was blooming in view of the kitchen window. Only last weekend, these branches were bent down by the weight of the wet, heavy late window snow.

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Camellia flowers

A blessing of living in a mild winter climate (USDA Zone 7b) is that hardier plants from temperate areas elsewhere thrive here. Camellias are one of them.

I probably haven't appreciated them properly in the past.

They're not very supportive of native wildlife (C. japonica cultivars have highly modified flowers), although they provide cover and nesting sites for birds.

But in winter, they provide a wonderful array of flower shapes and colors; they're evergreen; and they're drought-tolerant and low-maintenance.

And now, in mid-winter, they're flowering, and providing an uplift of spirit. There's a lot to be said for that.

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Winter gardens

One of our first native woodland wildflowers to bloom is Hepatica. Hepatica acutiloba has slightly pointed liver-shaped leaves (the genus name reflects this), while H. americana has more rounded lobes. Spring is definitely on the way when we see the first Hepatica flowers, tucked among the leaves on moist banks, often along stream. Hepatica nobilis is a European species that also flowers early. I remember the excitement that my fellow lab members expressed in a long ago excursion; apparently, it was a German tradition, at least among botanical types, to troop off to see the first Hepatica flowers, even if they were just emerging above the snow!

We have a small patch in our Woodland Wildflower Garden at the botanical garden -- flowering through the cold and warm spells of late February.

Camellias are stalwarts of southern winter gardens. We're lucky to be able to grow them; our northern neighbors are anxiously hoping for hardier cultivars that are reliable. Ours are drought-tolerant when established, live for a long time, are relatively pest-free, and brighten winter days with their diversity of colors and shapes. I haven't ever planted a camellia, but have been the grateful beneficiary of previously planted ones at the two houses that we've lived in here in the South.

There are 4 large camellias around our house in Clemson, two lovely pink ones, a white one that always gets zapped by frost, and a beautiful tree-sized 'Professor Sargent' that illuminates the front entrance with its deep red flowers. The red flowers are a welcome contrast to the grays and browns of the winter landscape, even as crocuses, daffodils, and snowdrops brighten the garden beds.

An excursion to Charlotte, NC in the company of fellow gardening friends today revealed more winter-flowering treasures, including a Frittilaria, Erica, and Ranunculus in Elizabeth Lawence's garden, a lovely black and white Iris (Widow's Iris), a diversity of hellebores, including a striking purple cultivar, a 'weedy' Ranuculus that was lovely, and also in flower, an unusual Clematis in flower, and another striking Ranunculus (I think) with the cultivar name of 'Brazen Hussy.' I'm out of my area of expertise when it comes to cultivars of horticultural gems, being a native plant sort of person by background and 'training', but it's great fun to see them in lovingly tended gardens.

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