An Answer for Dying Dogwoods?

When we moved to our property in 1985, I was enchanted by its abundance of native dogwood trees, Cornus florida.Many of my dogwoods were mature specimens with thick trunks and widely spreading canopies. Each spring fluttering white blooms frosted the woods. Anticipation of the sight brought me eagerly through the winter, and when the dogwoods blossomed I knew spring was firmly entrenched.

However, recent years have hit my dogwoods badly. Dogwood anthracnose, dogwood borers, powdery mildew and drought stress have left dogwood skeletons standing forlornly throughout the eastern US. The drought we experienced last fall has been brutal on local dogwoods. Lou has cut a half dozen dead dogwoods from the property already this year, and recently I identified several more dead ones. 

When I looked out over the garden this week, I noticed a scattering of white blooms, a pale shadow of former glory. In past years this spring view was covered in dogwood blooms, where now only a sprinkling of dogwood blooms show. Lou wants to plant new dogwoods. At first I refused, thinking new ones would likely succumb to the same problems as the old ones. However, a local nursery owner pointed out that hybrids are much more resistant to disease and insects than Cornus florida. Many of these are hybrids of Cornus florida/Cornus kousa. The Kousa dogwood is native to Japan and China and is more disease and insect resistant. Kousa dogwood is a pretty tree but its blooms appear after the leaves have appeared, so lacks the impact of our native dogwood. The hybrids seem to have the best of both worlds. 

Dr. Elwin Orton of Rutgers University has spent about 40 years developing hybrid dogwoods. His Stellar series includes several sturdy varieties, including popular 'Stellar Pink' and the highly anthracnose resistant 'Appalachian Spring'. Dr. Orton also developed 'Hyperion', which is known for its rapid growth and vigor. 'Red Pygmy' is a dwarf red hybrid.

Other plant breeders are working on additional hybrid dogwoods to take the place of our dying ones. I planted a 'Stellar Pink' several years ago. It survived last year's drought, though bloom production is less this year. I told Lou I will look at more hybrids and make a selection to replace a few we lost. However, I don't think anyone has come up with a dogwood that can survive without water. So these will have to be planted in the garden where we can take good care of them.

Late Fall 2015

Fog shrouds the morning, but muted jewel tones filter through the mists. Soon sunshine burns away the haze, and bright light sparks through the leaves. The Japanese maples are especially resplendent in their fall foliage, bedazzling like the most brilliant gemstones. I walk through the garden, paying tribute to the last glorious burst of autumn.

The foliage of Deodar Cedar 'Feelin' Blue' is a lovely contrast to the warmer colors of fall..

My "marriage tree," now 40 years old!

The wonderful fall foliage of Japanese maple 'Orido Nishiki' lights up the woodland garden.

Camellia sasanqua 'Kanjiro'

Snowflake hydrangea, late fallAcer japonica 'Waterfall'

A bee, buzzing about a snapdragon, takes advantage of the last warm days of fall.Showers of leaves come down with each wind gust. Soon autumn will bow before winter's breath, and even my Japanese maples will stand mute as the garden slumbers. But that's OK. It is time to turn my thoughts toward Christmas!

Addendum: There has been some misunderstanding about the age of my garden, because my marriage tree is forty years old. Actually, the tree was very small when we married, and we kept it in a pot for years, until we moved here in 1985. We planted it in the yard then. So we have been here in Helena for 30 years, not forty. However, a tornado destroyed everything in the front yard in 1990, except my marriage tree, which was not harmed at all. After the tornado, I began planting what has become my garden - so the garden itself is twenty-five years old. But what a joy to watch a garden grow for a quarter century! Sorry for the confusion.   Deb