Glowing Embers – A Winning Japanese Maple for Sun

As many readers know, a couple of years ago I had to take down a gorgeous crabapple tree in my front yard that was failing. And because I also had lost a 90-foot beech tree shortly before, on the other side of the front yard, the site had turned from shade to fiercely sunny.

In considering what to plant to replace the crabapple, I did some research and settled on a Japanese maple called ‘Glowing Embers.’  Usually you don’t plant Japanese maples in full sun – they prefer dappled shade. But this one is different – it takes full sun and high heat, and is a vigorous grower to boot. Developed by Dr. Michael Dirr, the dean of woody plants, ‘Glowing Embers’ received the Georgia Gold Medal Winner award in 2005. Ultimately it will reach 20-25′ high, a bit smaller than my crabapple was, but it will help provide shade to the eastern side of the house.

I planted it in November 2011, when all I could see to appreciate was its bark, which in winter has kind of a reddish cast to the branches, something I haven’t read about in online descriptions.

Taken with my iPhone, this image of the tree with its branches tied up on its way to the planting hole shows a reddish tint to the bark.

I’ve even had one designer colleague ask me if this was a ‘Sango Kaku’ maple, which are noted for their red branches. It’s not that intense, but it’s pretty impressive.

I loved the shape of my tree in winter, and took this image of it during a light snowfall.

‘Glowing Embers’ in snow.

In spring and summer, this tree has lovely light green leaves (a choice I favored because my house is red brick and I wanted it to stand out against that background).

A close up of the leaves as the little “whirlybirds” (oops, technically that’s “samaras” to us plant geeks ) start to appear. (iPhone 5 photo)

Acer palmatum ‘Glowing Embers’  last spring. I gave it extra water during the summer.

But it was in the fall that I fully appreciated ‘Glowing Embers’. The leaves can turn a variety of shades on the same tree, which explains how it got its name. And from tree to tree, it can take on a different aspect. Here are two photos, one from my specimen and another from a ‘Glowing Embers’ planted in a client’s garden.

A close-up of the leaves on my tree as they started to turn.

A ‘Glowing Embers’ planted in a landscape client’s garden, showing a slightly different range of colors on the leaves in autumn. Some of the reddish leaves had a purple tone to them.

What will the future bring? I’ll close with an image provided courtesy of the Georgia Botanical Gardens, of a mature ‘Glowing Embers’ in the fall at its Callaway Building.

© Contributors to
The State Botanical Garden of Georgia, 2007

I have no idea how long mine will take to get this large, but I hope it will be while I still call Thornapple Street my home.

Destruction in the Garden

August 2012 in my side yard.

Just when you think your garden has suffered as much as it can, you find out you’re wrong.

Last year, as many readers know, I lost two beloved trees in my front yard, which turned a north-facing sloped shade garden into the horticultural equivalent of the Sahara Desert. I’m still coping with those changes.

Then, in early August, my next-door neighbor’s massive, leaning oak tree fell on their house, crushing the attic and top floors (fortunately no one was home). The canopy was wide enough to rip bricks from their chimney and hurl them into my side garden, and to crush a section of fencing, my wobbly arbor and destroy a number of shrubs. (Again, fortunately, no damage to my house, just the garden).

A closer look at the arbor area.

Arbor debris surrounded by bricks after the tree canopy was removed from the house next door. The hanging line was my cable connection.

To the right of the photo above, you can see the large stand of azaleas shown in the  2011 photo below. I had just had them carefully pruned but they still suffered some damage.

The old arbor and stand of azaleas in happier days.

What did Henry Mitchell say? “Wherever humans garden, there are magnificent heartbreaks. It is not nice to garden anywhere. Everywhere there are violent winds, startling once-per-five-centuries floods, unprecedented droughts, record-setting freezes, abusive and blasting heats never known before.” (From The Essential Earthman).

But gardeners are made of stern stuff. My first act after removing some shrubs damaged beyond repair (a pair of variegated Pieris japonica which would have not liked the new, additional sun anyway) and pruning broken branches off my star magnolia, was to commit to a new arbor.

A new white arbor has found a home where the old one was. Now all that remains is to decide what to plant to adorn it.

I like looking through it from my kitchen window. And even if the new one won’t be such a line of demarcation in terms of sun and shade, it will remind me that gardens change constantly, and we have to be prepared to do so as well. So this winter I’ll curl up with my favorite gardening books and dream about how to re-design the space I see from so many windows. Opportunities beckon.

Too Many Trees for One Front Yard?

I’m a huge fan of trees in a garden. And any new house can certainly benefit from planting with an eye to the future. That’s why a recently-installed landscape at a new house in my neighborhood caught my eye, and caused me to contemplate the question of how many trees might be . . . too many. First, some background. I live in an area that most people would consider fairly traditional in terms of architecture – mostly brick Colonial houses (like mine) with, more recently, tear-downs that “eat the lot” even if they are attractive Arts-and-Crafts style (large) bungalows. About five years ago (I think), an extremely modern house went up on a large, deep lot. It was really different. I’m sorry I don’t have any photos of the house before the front yard’s plantings went it, but suffice it to say it was the talk of the neighborhood. In any event, the house was finally completed after some starts and stops, but the front yard was simply over-seeded and left alone for a very long time. My designer’s curiosity was peaked – what would happen in front of this black/gray stone fronted house that looked unlike anything else around it? The front yard was terraced, but for a long time decorated only with weeds. Then, very late in the fall last year, trees and shrubs started arriving. They were left lying around on the ground for so long I feared they wouldn’t survive until they were planted. But before Christmas, they went in. So here is the front yard in its winter glory.

The new house with brand-new landscape in winter.

The landscape design is simple and striking: trees, only a few shrubs (a line of yews at the top of the second terraced level, where the driveway meets the house’s facade, and some inkberry hollies near the street on the lower left side of the lot), and liriope for groundcover. There are seven Betula nigra (river birches) and three maples – all planted on a front yard that is about 80 feet wide.

The view from the street after the trees leafed out. The inkberry hollies aren’t visible, but the rest of the plantings are.

Even though the site faces north, it gets a moderate amount of afternoon sun. The river birches are beautiful, with exfoliating bark, and will grow relatively quickly if they get enough water. (I don’t think the garden is irrigated). I don’t know which variety of maples were planted. My concern is that these are both tree species that can get huge, and quickly. The birches can’t be more than about 10-11′ on center, and the two maples on the left side of the lot, near the property line, are even closer together. Right now the effect is balanced, but five years down the road, I think, the canopies of these trees will be fighting with each other; river birches can reach 25-35′ wide, and maples even larger. I’ve had my own experience with planting trees too closely together, as my Okame cherry post demonstrates. So I wonder what the landscape designer/architect was thinking when he or she designed this space. I’d be interested in my reader’s reactions.

April in March – Magnolias on Parade

By now, everyone who pays attention to plants in our area has been overwhelmed with early-spring-itis in their gardens. The little daffodils and hellebores bloomed way ahead of schedule. The Okame cherry trees started showing their flowers in February, for pity’s sake, and the Yoshino cherries around the Tidal Basin and elsewhere are at their peak right now. Forsythia, tulips and even some allium foliage are working it. Climate change seems here to stay.

Some of the showiest spring-flowering trees around here are the deciduous magnolias: Magnolia x soulangiana (Saucer magnolia), M. stellata (Star magnolia), and a group called the ‘Little Girl Hybrids.’ Let’s start with M. soulangiana, which in fact was the first tree I learned to identify in my “woody plants” class in design school.

Saucer magnolias have an open, multi-trunk habit. In bloom, they are breathtaking.

Saucer magnolias usually bloom here in early April. Their flowers look like tulips, at least to me; they do best planted in full sun and good drainage. My woody plants teacher recommended that we always plant them in other than south-facing sites because of the risk of warm late winter weather causing them to bud early, only to get caught by a late freeze, resulting in brown mush all over the branches where beautiful flowers should have appeared.

A mass of blooms on a pink Magnolia soulangiana.

And again.

Next there are the star magnolias, which tend to be a little smaller than the saucer magnolias once fully grown. They have strap-like blooms and most varieties have white flowers. I grow ‘Royal Star’ in my garden, a white cultivar. This specimen, which I photographed last week in Northwest Washington DC, looks very much like mine.

Star magnolias stay somewhat more compact and won't grow as large as the saucer magnolias.

Then there are the’Little Girl Hybrids,’ bred at the National Arboretum to bloom even later than M. stellata, and bearing names like ‘Betty,’ ‘Ann,’ ‘Susan,’ ‘Jane’ and ‘Judy.’ Here’s a pair of ‘Betty’ magnolias that I planted in a client’s garden about ten years ago. I think the size is ideal for a smaller site.

These 'Little Girl Hydbrid' magnolias are the variety 'Betty.' (Taken with my iPhone 4).

On the whole, these trees have beautiful gray bark and root systems that don’t like being messed with. If you plant them, give them time to grow but realize that you won’t be able to grow much under them but groundcovers. Still, it’s probably worth the sacrifice.