Gardening with Galligan: Standbys of the summer

In dealing with shrubs and vines instead of spending our time with “what’s in bloom now,” I haven’t covered the standbys of the summer garden, many of which have already come and gone, but still deserve consideration. Most of these require what I don’t have, full sun, but I remember them fondly from past gardens.

First of these is phlox paniculata. When I was a child, I spent the summers in exile at the home of my mother’s sister and her husband, a childless couple, where I have to confess, I was indeed adored. I was there for 10 weeks every year and that’s where I learned to garden. Why was I there? My mother ran a tight ship and knew as she knew many other things that if either of her children were to put one small foot on the Manhattan pavement where we lived, to say nothing of entering a department store, movie theater or other crowded place, that we would be immediately stricken with polio and spend the rest of our lives in an iron lung. This was gospel. There were certain things she was sure of.

So each year, my brother and I were given a choice — exile or camp. He always chose camp. I always chose exile. You are now wondering what this has to do with phlox, but the answer is actually a lot. Because it was in my aunt’s garden, the Elba of my childhood, that I first encountered phlox. You can tell how young I was, because when I was trusted to weed them, I felt honored.

Phlox had yet to be hybridized. They offered little excitement. They were 24 to 30 inches tall and pink. Period. When people refer to “common garden phlox,” that’s the plant they are talking about. The first modern hybrids came to us during the mid-1900s, courtesy of Englishmen Bertram Hanmer Bunbury Symons-Jeune and Alan Bloom and Georg Arends in Germany. These men bred mostly for flower size, vigor, color and shading. Then the Dutch became involved, and were concerned for the most part with growth habit, sturdier stems, larger flower heads and the novelty mutations, otherwise known as “eyes.” In the United State, interestingly enough, the emphasis has been on resistance to powdery mildew.

They are relatively easy to grow; however White Flower Farm, and I often use them as a guide, offers only one variety, “David,” in its fall catalog, whereas in the spring catalog, there are many. The suggestion here is clear, I think. If you want to begin with phlox, wait until spring.

I have also noted over the years that although you can buy phlox seed from almost any catalog, it’s not until you have paid for it that you get to read the instructions. If memory serves, it’s something like their germination requires a constant temperature of 65 degrees for about 45 days. So unless you have a greenhouse or Eskimo blood, you’re not likely to be successful starting the plant from seed. In fact, it seems clear that you shouldn’t even begin.

The older varieties of phlox are, of course, less expensive than the newer ones, which is almost always the case. “David” is $12 a plant at WFF; newer varieties are $16.95. I have two favorites, “Orange Perfection” — the name speaks for itself — and “Nicky,” a wonderful deep purple. Yes, I am tired of pink.

Next week, we can finish with phlox, especially their susceptibility to powdery mildew, and move along to black-eyed Susans, otherwise known as rudbeckia.