Fall-blooming anemones are little-known garden treasures of the season that are ripe for discovery by a broader audience. Though some of these rare and beautiful flowers are finicky, others are so easy to grow that they bestow the illusion of green-thumb genius to the gardener clever enough to employ them.
All of autumn’s anemones are eye-catching conversation pieces. Vita Sackville-West, who created the famous Sissinghurst Garden in England, called them “a queer reminder of spring” and she was right. These flowers do suggest the delicacy of spring flowers in both form and color.
There are 70 species of anemones, but for the home gardener’s purposes, there are three general categories.
Florist’s anemones are those sophisticated, wicked-looking blooms beloved by French impressionists for their stunningly saturated blue or red petals and soot-black centers, often haloed with rings of white. In a cool climate, they are best purchased as cut flowers.
Then there are many species of petite spring woodland anemones. Most are white, unassuming charmers, though I would recommend the little blue wood anemone (Anemome nemerosa `Robinsoniana’), which can be ordered now through some bulb catalogs (such as John Scheeper’s Co., 860-567-0838).
Then there’s our autumn surprise, the dramatic fall anemones now blooming in local gardens. Their cuplike flowers are mostly dusty shades of pink and seldom larger than 2 inches. But floating 2 to 4 feet above their clumps of sturdy foliage on slender stalks, they are both dainty and awesome, like a ballerina dressed in pink making athletic leaps above the garden stage.
Autumn anemones effortlessly maintain their height without staking, while dahlias and asters crash down around them or stand gracelessly tied to supports. The freshness, poise and airiness of fall anemones can make them look like visitors, a bit out of place among the coarser giants of the fall garden. The dusty pink flowers can clash with the warm colors of mums and fall foliage, though they look good with purple foliage plants such as smokebush, cimicifuga, or Euphorbia dulcis `Chameleon,’ and especially the popular Eupatorium rugosum `Chocolate,’ a maroon-leaved relative of native Joe Pye weed. I think they look best growing in a bed by themselves.
When they are happy, fall anemones are perennials that rise effortlessly. In fact, garden writers in England and the Pacific Northwest always are complaining about their invasive tendencies.
Unfortunately, winter mortality rates are high among the hybrids most commonly sold in catalogs and local nurseries. There are some wild types that have the toughness to thrive in a cold climate, however, and they are the plants to start with.
The grape-leaf anemone, from Nepal, has three to four flowers on strong scapes about 2 feet above the foliage. The plants are stoloniferous–they spread by creeping stems at the soil surface– and even spread out into my lawn, where they get either mowed or dug up and given away.
My spreading clump looks wonderful in bloom and yields many flowers for cutting. It goes by two names, Anemone vitifolia, which refers to grape-leaflike foliage, or Anemone tomentosa, which refers to the wooliness of the attractive buds and winter seedheads. The only name you need to know, though, is `Robustissima,’ the selected form that’s sold in nurseries. Its leaves are lobed instead of divided like other fall anemones.
I grow `Robustissima’ in its own half-shady bed behind the garage, where it thrives on neglect and indeed offers a surprise on the route to the compost pile.
The other great naturalizer in the family is Anemone hupehensis `September Charm,’ which has larger pink flowers but is just as tough.
Both bloom in August and September, which means their flowering is not cut short by October frosts, as happens almost every year with the later-blooming hybrid garden anemones. The vitifolia and hupehensis species also survive transplanting and division better than the more common Anemone x hybrida.
Hybrid anemones are often called Japanese anemones.
The one anemone x hybrida that is worth trying, and which has done well for me, is the single white-flowered garden hybrid called `Honorine Jobert.’ `Honorine Jobert’ is a very tall plant with ramrod-straight, 4-foot stalks with clouds of furry round buds that open into 2-inch white flowers. The petals are not dry and papery like those of most fall flowers but instead fleshy like magnolias or tulips, and there’s something about the way they capture light that makes them glow.
Despite their height, they don’t require staking, though they may lean a bit to one side. After the slow start typical of all fall anemones, my single `Honorine Jobert’ survived a relocation and spread through offsets into a large clump.
White goes with everything, and `Honorine Jobert’ is such a queenly presence in any border where she thrives that she transforms sunny mums, stolid sedums, towering purple Joe Pye weed and crashing asters into her courtiers.
