The Better Side to a Clematis

After cursing the sweet autumn clematis in the last post, it seems only fitting to extol the virtues of its cultivated cousin. Hardly difficult to do, as the cultivars tend to be easy to grow and to reward with some stellar performance not once but twice a year.

Jackmanii in the crape myrtle

This Jackmanii climbs a dwarf purple crape myrtle, blooming before and after the tree's season, thus extending the show of color from spring all the way into fall. The vines of the clematis cultivars are twiggy and so while they use the crape myrtle branches to climb on, they do not strangle it, and this way they keep far enough away from the house as well.

This Jackmanii has been blooming strong for quite a few years now, coming back after floods and drought, frosts and broiling dog days. If you want profuse blooms with ease, it's hard to do better than a Jackmannii, and the intense purple color adds to its charm. If, however, I had a dark brick house, I would wish to plant a Henryii clematis, snowy white and big as saucers, to climb either a trellis or nearby tree. The contrast would work well, I think.

While the Jackmanii is tried and true, clematis are worth a little exploration. This is certainly the case with this blue clematis.

I don't even remember where I picked this up or what the official name of it is, and when I put it in I didn't dare hope it would do all it's done, but wow. This plant has all my reverence. I think at first I did baby it a bit just until it took root, and that's been quite a few years since. Now, spring and fall this blue clematis makes a bang of blooms.

Above, the blue clematis blooms with the primroses in spring---quintessential cottage gardening. This variety begins a deep blue, and as it fully opens, the blue softens and pales, the most welcome color to add to the pink primroses and oxalis and the white Queen Anne's lace.

 

I suppose some folks might look at this corner and think, "Crikey, what a mess." But I love the cottage garden with its willy-nilly sprays of flowers, almost meadowish, where you turn the corner and might encounter anything climbing up a wall.  I blame my untamed eye on being fed too much of the Romantics in school. After nearly every college I attended crammed Wordsworth into me, I had to do something with him, and I wasn't about to put him into my own prose, so voila, he came out in my own bloody little Tintern Abbey.

If the Abbey can crumble, then so can my walls.

Persnickety points: The most widely known quirk of the clematis is that it likes its feet in the shade and its head in the sun. So support its climb somehow. Furthermore, you'll want to nurse this little guy on the transplant with plenty of rich soil, space, and water (keep in mind how sandy our soil is and how quickly it can drain through or evaporate). You may lose the first few you try, and unfortunately, the clematis is an investment of somewhere between $12 to $25, so you really want to give it a fair chance.

I once had a clematis crispa, which is in fact native to this area. It's an adorable wetland plant that you might see on a float trip on various local creeks, along with cardinal flower, pickerel weed, duck potato, water lilies and other native lovelies. I lost my crispa some years back, probably to the stranglehold of white ginger roots. If you have a wetland area, however, I suggest you hunt up this treasure. It gives delicate, sweet-smelling, lavender, bell-shaped flowers that are simply delightful.

I'm not about to tell anyone exactly where I saw this little fellow in the wild except to say this much. You have to paddle to it in May-June, and I sure hope one day I get to see it again.

Also, if you came here without first seeing my post on the Sweet Autumn Clematis, then before you even think "clematis," beware: that is not a nice plant.