Saving Seeds

The hyacinth bean vine and the four o’clocks have produced mature seeds for the harvesting. They can be planted next year for a new crop; until then, they, and the remaining ones can be saved for several years in a cool, dry place. Glassine envelopes are often recommended but I’ve noticed that many seed companies are packaging their seeds in resealable foil packs so I’m saving foil-lined tea bag packages. I once met the guy who invented foil-lined packaging—thanks Mr. B!

Saving seeds of old varieties has become an important endeavor as hybrids are quickly replacing them. Hybrids can only be grown from patented seeds that you buy from the grower. While hybrids will often produce seeds in your home garden and even grow, the plant will revert to one of its parents rather than the beautiful hybrid that you bought. Sometimes that’s good but it’s not usually what you’re looking for. When we lived in New England, we learned what a problem this is for farmers. They can no longer save seed from their harvest to plant for next year’s crop—they have to spend a lot of money to buy more seed.

I enjoy hybrid flowers but many hybrid flowers and vegetables are “designed” for a particular market such as tough-skinned tomatoes that can withstand long-distance trucking and a long shelf-life in stores, but are fairly tasteless—that’s why home-grown tomatoes taste so much better. While roses aren’t generally grown from seed, they’re an illustration of contrast between the old varieties and those grown “for the market”. The voluptuous old-fashioned “cabbage roses” with their full-blown petals and heady fragrance are unmatched in their style of beauty but they could never stand up to the rigors of the floral industry. The closely-wrapped petals and long, sturdy stems of the American Beauty–type rose are better suited to last for their trip from the greenhouse to the wholesaler to the florist to your home but lack much fragrance (you can make them last longer still by changing their water every day and recutting the stems at an angle). It’s a trade-off but our planet would suffer loss if the only plants cultivated were those of market convenience.

Besides, it’s fun to share seed with other gardeners. My friend R. gave me hyacinth bean vine seeds from her garden.

Mystery Fragrance

This morning as I rearranged a couple of my plants to their better advantage—and mine, a lovely fragrance attracted me. Where was it coming from? Not the scant honeysuckle on the back fence; I know that scent. It was right there in front of me, under my nose—literally; the Angelonia Angel Face exuded a new dimension of beauty. I don’t know why I haven’t noticed it before; were the purple flowers making this perfume before now? Or did I have to get down on my knees for it to reach me?

The hummingbird flitted in mid-morning to sip from the orange Million Bells. Two Red Hibiscus are blooming today as are hyacinth bean vines, Angelonia, the Victoria Blue’s, pentas, and earlier—a few four O’clocks.

Though the temperatures have been in the upper 80’s and low to mid-90’s, the drier air makes being outdoors delightful, especially when there’s a warm gentle breeze. I could have stayed…

The Beanstalk Has Blossomed

The lovely hyacinth bean vine is presenting her beautiful purple flowers (I use purple in a general sense to cover all versions of the color). I’ll have to sit on my hands to keep from “deadheading” these flowers (cutting off spent flowers to keep a plant blooming). I’ll have to remind myself that beautiful glossy purple bean pods and eventually artistic black and white seeds follow these flowers.

In one of my earliest gardening attempts, my parents let me plant English pea seeds in their front planter box. They came up nicely and bloomed. I had read about deadheading in my garden books—my first book club books were gardening books, so I dutifully deadheaded my pea flowers against my parents’ warnings. I unfortunately didn’t make the distinction between decorative flowers and flowers that “produce fruit”. I never did get any peas on that round. (I think there’s a parable in there somewhere. When I find it, I’ll let you know—or if you find it, you can let me know.)

A ladybug has made her way to my garden. May her tribe increase. The hummingbird darted in this morning for a visit while I was sitting in the garden. He or she briefly investigated the hyacinth vine flowers, flitted over the rest and darted away. The garden likes the cooler weather; yesterday the temperature only reached 73 degrees. As a result, more plants are blossoming, the four o’clocks were still blooming at 9 o’clock am and crickets are singing.

Mystery Singer

This morning the air was so cool, the four o’clocks were still open. What a bonus! Last night however, when I opened the garden door to see them I was surprised to find the answer to a mystery!

Our attention (my husband and my) was diverted to a small, round green frog sitting on a green garden chair—I need to be careful when I sit! I had heard a frog “singing” on the balcony for some time but my diligent searches hadn’t found it. Night or day, we’d hear a high- pitched croak--not from a large bullfrog (thankfully!) but from something smaller. Yet it seemed bigger than the other two tiny frog residents of past seasons since the sound could be heard even indoors! This frog’s length is about the diameter of a half dollar.

My husband ran for the camera but by the time I got it set up, our frog friend had jumped away. I followed it but it jumped again to cower under a plant saucer. It’s nice to meet you; I really won’t hurt you…

Late Bloomers

“Four o’clocks” remind me my first apartment. The old house, which had been divided into apartments still had a little strip of “yard” beyond the
parking lot, filled with the afternoon and evening-blooming flowers.

A few years ago, I bought a seed packet to grow my first ones but they’re such heavy seed producers and ready volunteers (though I often direct a few of the seeds into the soil to make sure)that I haven’t needed to buy any more.


My four o’clocks tend to get leggy and “cascade” (the “in” word), down the balcony. At first I thought that was a good thing so that they could be enjoyed from below until the night I remembered to go out to see them. I discovered they were in total darkness where no one can see them; so I pulled them in and propped them up on a rail where I can see them.
Now I can readily see their pink and peppermint-spotted white night blooms. Unlike morning glories, the flowers can reopen for a second performance.

I’m sad to say that my hydrangea rooting experiment didn’t work. Though the tops of the cuttings kept turning black, I held out hope that the tiny sprouts of new growth would prevail. Unfortunately, the heavy heat and humidity prevailed; the cuttings are now entirely black.

The good news is that my Mexican Petunia has budded! Okay, so I did fertilize it. Apparently even weeds need nutrients.