It is somehow unfair to hold a grudge against one of the bravest, most vigorous annuals. What has the humble petunia done despite the hottest conditions, the poorest soil and the ugliest of gardeners? This little flower that could’ve done nothing wrong beyond being attractive, affordable, versatile, and maybe a little too popular. It is the botanical equivalent of the sparrow, the Taylor Swift of the Top 40.
Certainly, petunia breeders have worked hard to give the petunia a more exotic edge. In the 90s, horticulturalists at a Japanese beer company, employed to grow plants to infuse new flavors into their beers, were hoping to develop wine grapes when they discovered a vigorous petunia growing in the wild like a bad grass. After many seasons of domestication and refining the plant, the first wave-seeded petunias hit the market and have grown in popularity ever since.
They also widened the rainbow of colors available to include chartreuse, magenta and lime green, a true bright blue, white petunias with a lime green throat, purple with white star spots, black velvety and even silver.
But in my mind, a petunia by any other name is still a petunia. Although I have planted wavy petunias in my south side porch planters this year, it’s mainly because these tough little flowers will bloom where less heat tolerant plants fear to step.
Beyond that, I have a non-tunia garden. I brazenly filled my containers and raised flower beds with all the flowers I liked. I usually choose my poses based on two extremely “scientific” factors – their color and whether I find them pretty or not. The “little” details – like light requirements, moisture levels, soil condition, space requirements, and ease of growth – tend to fall by the wayside when I load in greenhouses, impulsively choosing the most eye-catching flowers like a sugar-deprived child given carte blanche to a candy store.
In the end, I end up with a garden that is, well, informal. A master gardener might shudder at my collection of harum-scarum flowers, sometimes planted too close together because my aspirations were greater than my actual garden plot. Containers aren’t strategically designed to hold overturns, charges, and thrillers – as much as simple charges.
This year, I fell in love with Nemesia, a beautiful little flower that looks like orchids passed through a miniaturization machine. Most of them ended up in containers, which are clustered around my fountain.
Nemesia are like tiny works of art – dozens of orchid-shaped flowers without the fussy care required. / Special at the Forum.
I bought a large lofos plant – a climbing vine that produces beautiful wine red flowers in the shape of a trumpet – but had to divide it into three smaller pots to fit into my new three-way planter. pots with trellis. So far, he seems quite traumatized by the dissection; I suspect I inadvertently committed a triple-planticide.
I filled the flower garden with sunpatiens – the new offshoot of impatiens that actually loves sunlight – as well as an exuberant coral and gold fire dahlia, the bright-eyed blossoms and the brilliant foliage of the periwinkle. Madagascar and the frilly, old-fashioned charm of stock flowers.
Stock flowers have an old-fashioned charm. / By Tammy Swift
The Fire Dahlia is really eye-catching. / Special at the Forum.
There are also tiny Dahlberg daisies, which look like they may have grown in the same little Barbie Dream Garden that produced little Nemesia. In the background I planted a row of purple cosmos, whose daisy-like petals float so beautifully in the breeze, and Truffula Pink Globe Amaranth, which grows tall but produces round, dense orbs of pink petals. and prickly dotted with orange spots. Ageratum fill the first row. I especially love these little plants because it’s so hard to find that shade of true blue in the gardening world.
Deadheading cosmos will help them bloom all summer long. / Tammy Swift
Ageratum are a beautiful shade of periwinkle blue. / By Tammy Swift
I grew an equally eclectic selection last summer, but not all of them made it – probably because I had a puppy who insisted on digging up plants and maybe because of my indifferent approach to fertilization. (beyond what the puppy provided, might I add). With my brown thumbs, you would think I would gravitate towards easier, more resilient flowers.
But it’s me. Petunia skills with orchid tastes.