If Dr. Victor von Frankenstein had been digging through graves at night in search of parts and pieces for his Frankenstein monster and happened upon a Sedum spectabile, he may have thought he had found a perfect brain for his creation. I like to think of sedums as tiny floating brains in the Garden Man-scape, each waiting for some mad scientist to implant it into his hideously deformed laboratory creature. What's most disturbing about sedums is the ease with which you can create new specimens from existing plants. Severing just about any piece of the leaves or stalk and planting it in the ground will eventually turn into another full-blown sedum. Imagine if you could do that with people. Creepy.
If you decide to plant a sea of tiny floating brains in your Garden Man-scape, they can be used as single or clump plants. Sedum is a late flowering perennial, so it'll keep the brain in the oven until sometime around late summer or early fall, when you'll notice an explosion of red tops just about everywhere you go. A healthy plant will range somewhere between 18 and 24 inches high, which makes it a pretty killer choice for the first or second row of a mixed border. When all your summer plants start to settle down and lose their color, these little craniums will burst outta nowhere.
On the technical side, Sedums are a member of a group of plants known as Stonecrops, which are a form of succulent. Basically these plants retain lots of water in their leaves and stems, which is evident from the thick, lush character of the plant. This means they are sort of desert-camel-like and won't really need a whole lot of extra water. (Of course, more never hurts...) Also, try to stick these guys someplace with lots of sun to get the best result, but a little shade won't kill 'em. These are also pretty tolerant of cold as a Zone 4 plant, native to Korea and the more northernly chunks of China. I like that about sedum because it means I don't have to buy more of 'em every year. In fact, if you're like me and have a lot more time than money, a single sedum could yield an entire yard of free sedum in just a few years. Now that's thrifty.
Excellent plants are difficult to come by, but Sedum spectabile seems to take the cake. There's really no wrong way to use, plant, or divide this species, and when it comes to providing fall interest, few others can rival the vibrant red hues sedum provides. Imagine Dr. Frankenstein running amok in a wild fantasy garden of grey matter after you pick up a couple sedums and let 'em spread. I mean, yeah the guy was demented. But he's still got good taste.
photo credit:
1] https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeqUpqNDxh308z0ViqjL2ngYq_OxeTEV4ejidCs92Zgoa3Hft7z8XaGTBxBkOJKTIPRt4zdebTOYk71b4IOlXMl_Ll9MR40jMKAt3zsFJaUnn5SYtQRYkFVTBU5fRrXvV7AFbQcMXNFWk/s1600/small.jpg
2] http://content.internetvideoarchive.com/content/photos/006/000264_11.jpg
3] http://pss.uvm.edu/pss123/sedum2.jpg
4] http://www.floridata.com/ref/s/sedu_spe.cfm
They love growing in gravel too. Makes it a great choice for that section along the dirt drive back by the old shed/garage where I dismantle old broken down motors and gadgets. (They are great for hiding nuts and bolts and bits of plastic and copper wire. [Oh please, you never tossed a tidbit of mechanical trash or wiring in the garden??])
ReplyDeleteMy favorite, however, was a chunk of transplant that had tried to make a getaway during a division day June 2009. I didn't find it until all the tools were put away (or leaned up against the nearest tree) and of course I wasn't standing next to the tree that was protecting my shovel. It was a good 15ft away at least! (You know when you are done, no denying it.)
So anyway, I picked up the rogue sedum and tossed it on top of the doghouse to get to it later. Later came about end of October early November. But what a summer we had! I almost regretted having to plant it. No really, that not-quite-wilted clump of sedum stayed alive bareroot on top of a wooden roof in about 30% shade from June to November with only the occasional rain to nurture it. All it got from me was the random taunt and dirty look. But get this... ...the darned thing lifted its heads... ...laying there sideways, it curved its necks upward to watch me in my travels throughout the yard. Most likely it was anticipating my trip to that tree so I could finally plant the poor thing. And it did eventually get planted before the winter freeze. It woke up just fine the following spring, but it seemed to have forgotten about me... ...it's faces no longer looked my direction. Believe it or not. (and the doghouse was really the hutch for my little daughter's rabbit, but that didn't sound as butch as doghouse!)
And what about that lady down the road who thinks they look like old man scrotum? I always wonder where she got the reference point from...
Ha, oh Muffy. But Perry, tiny floating scrotums doesn't roll off the tongue quite the same, does it...
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