Why don’t we see these plants in North Texas landscapes? Blame our hot summers
Most of what we heard on the news last weekend (Independence Day journeys) had to do with how we were traveling like never before. “Enough of the pandemic,” we said, as we struck out for all parts of America and beyond.
Because of some prior assignments, I was at home and contemplating the following. My wife was at a class reunion in Ohio. Our son Todd and his wife were on a cruise to Alaska. Our other son Brian and his son were touring American ballparks — 10 parks in 12 days. And another friend and his wife were on a cruise to the Faroe Islands and on to Greenland. Yet another friend texted me a photo as he dined with his wife at the same table where my wife and I sat overlooking the harbor in Seattle eating my favorite meal of my life — blackened salmon.
And then these friends and relatives (and readers and listeners) usually ask me about plants that they’ve seen on their journeys and how well they might do back here in Texas. Sequoias, Japanese cedars, Colorado blue spruces, lilacs, cherries (like the fresh cherry pies from Loveland, Colorado), peonies, rhubarb. They all come up in the conversations. This is probably as good a time as any to explain why you see some of these plants here and why you don’t see many of the others.
It generally ends up being our summers that earn the blame. We’re just too hot for most of those plants. Sure, you’ve heard that temperatures on the West Coast and in the Upper Midwest occasionally rise to the high 90s, perhaps even into the 100s. But they don’t stay there for more than a few days and then they drop back down to their more normal 70s and 80s.
I had a pomologist (fruit specialist) tell me once that we’re just 20 degrees too warm in both summer and winter for the likes of cherries here in North Central Texas.
Kentucky bluegrass is a beautiful cool-season turfgrass, meaning that it does most of its growing in spring and fall and that it goes somewhat dormant in summer. I grew up in College Station and started in horticulture at A&M. Back then, Ohio State was much stronger in my field, and I transferred as a junior. I had never been around Kentucky bluegrass.
My turf professor at Ohio State explained that Kentucky bluegrass could handle a few days in the mid-90s, but he compared it to a bank account. Every day that the temperature is 75 degrees, the bluegrass is able to “save money” into its account, but when it climbs into the 90s, the grass uses more of its stored energy reserves than it can manufacture, so it goes downhill. In other words, it is taking money out of its account faster than it is putting it in. That can only go on for so long.
That’s why plants like peonies, lilacs, rhododendrons, dahlias, hybrid clematis, and rhubarb aren’t suited to Texas. Blame it on the summers.
Conversely, that’s why Texans who move to the North won’t be able to grow oleanders, okra, banana trees or perhaps even crape myrtles, among many other things that won’t survive their winters.
There are other hidden factors that must be considered. Your soil’s pH (acidity/alkalinity) is one of them. Some plants (azaleas, rhododendrons, gardenias, etc.) must have acidic planting soils, and they’re extremely challenging unless you’re willing to exchange your native soil for a combination of sphagnum peat moss and finely ground pine bark mulch. You can do that for plants that stay small at maturity, but you can’t do so for large trees like East Texas pines and water oaks. It simply isn’t practical.
My wife’s parents were farmers just south of Columbus, Ohio. We visited them for a couple of weeks every summer, and I prowled the Columbus nurseries just for old times’ sake. I brought several varieties of yews (Taxus) back to Texas. I brought burning bush euonymus, and I brought several peonies.
Over the ensuing years almost all those plants fizzled, almost all in the summer. That was when I realized that tens of thousands of other fine northern gardeners had made that journey before me. They had tried those plants, probably generations earlier. If those plants were going to be shining stars for Texas, they’d already be here. But they weren’t.
All of which points out the importance of dealing with local experts. That’s why I’m such an advocate for Texas certified, and Texas master certified, nursery professionals. These are local men and women who are full time plant people. They’ve studied long and hard hours and they’ve passed difficult exams that prove they know what they’re talking about. Their advice is timely and reliable. Let them guide you in making your plant choices.
As a parting word, be careful in buying something marked as “brand new.” I’ve seen a dozen or more lilacs brought into this market, each being touted to be the one that will finally be “summer-proof.” So far, no go.
Give me a Catawba or Lipan crape myrtle any old day. Same colors as Persian lilacs, but immeasurably easier and with three or four rounds of blooms all through the summer. Granted, it won’t have the sweet fragrance of lilac, but for the incredible display of crape myrtle blooms that we can have here in Texas (and that northerners can only wish they could have), it’s worth the small sacrifice.
