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Annuals (Re)Discovered

Colorful annuals just may steal the show in your garden.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m a big fan of perennials. I just think annuals get a bad rap. One reason is that most gardeners (myself included) start with annuals, then “graduate” to perennials as they gain skill and confidence. Perennials demand a long-term commitment, a bit more care in planting and maintenance, and considerable design savvy—especially if your goal is to create ever-changing, summer-long drifts of color.

They cost more too. You’ve probably noticed that a flat of petunias typically sells for less than a buck a plant, while a single peony or black-eyed Susan (depending on its size) will set you back several times that amount. You can save even more on annuals if you grow your own from seed. It’s easy, and your seedlings bloom their first (and only) summer, while perennial seedlings usually take two years to flower.

You say you don’t like petunias? Or pansies or marigolds or snapdragons or impatiens? I happen to love these old-timers, but I admit it took me a few years. First I had to get over my prejudices (and insecurities) regarding, well, how common they were. In my haste to move up to perennials, I forgot what it was that attracted me to gardening to begin with—long-lasting color.

I also failed to notice the spectacular variety of smashing new petunias, pansies, marigolds, and snapdragons that are introduced every year. Take a look at impatiens ‘Jungle Gold’ online if you don’t believe me. (You’ll find photos of this and many other tropical-style annuals at www.jungleseeds.com.) Did you know there’s a pansy that flowers through November? It’s called ‘Icicles.’ In my garden it self-seeds, meaning I have it every year whether I want it or not.

And that’s another reason to love annuals: It turns out many non-sterile varieties will come back the next year, if not in the same place they were before. I can always count on the seeds of snapdragons, morning glories (an heirloom variety), cleomes, and California poppies to germinate the following summer. Just stop deadheading in mid-August if you want to encourage volunteers.

Deadheading is how experienced gardeners refer to the technique of removing faded flowers to promote re-blooming. Technically, an annual is a plant that lives for a single growing cycle. Annuals are called “ever-blooming” because all their energy goes into reproduction. That’s why deadheading is so important—it stimulates the plant to produce more flowers by preventing the plant from going to seed; cut off the flower and you force it to start all over again.

Here in the Upper Midwest, we grow many tropical perennials that we think of (and refer to) as annuals because they can’t make it through our long, cold winters. They couldn’t even make it through Missouri’s moderately cold winters. These plants, native to places like the Amazon Basin, add exotic colors and textures that had the Victorians so besotted they re-imagined garden design just to accommodate them. Thankfully, actual “bedding” (the name given to gardens planted to resemble a needlepoint pattern) has gone the way of the butter churn, though the term has stuck to annuals we plant each spring.

My appreciation for annuals was rekindled last summer when I put in a new terrace. The perennials I planted in the surrounding beds—carefully spaced two feet apart as the labels instructed—looked so puny and the wide-open spaces between them were so inviting to weeds that I decided to fill in with annuals. By the middle of the summer the annuals had pretty much stolen the show.

White verbena, deep purple ‘Marine’ heliotrope, blue Salvia farinacea, orange and red ‘Alaska’ nasturtiums, and ‘Black Dragon’ and ‘Kong’ coleus looked smashing among the multicolored perennial heucheras, foamflowers, dwarf campanulas, ‘Vera Jameson’ and ‘Matrona’ sedums, and astilbes. Threaded through this riot of color and texture were the fuzzy gray leaves of licorice plant. Interestingly, the shade plants (foamflower, astilbe, impatiens, and coleus) didn’t mind spending half the day in the sun, as long as they had plenty to drink, nor did the sun worshippers mind the shade. By the end of the summer, the nasturtiums I’d imagined spilling onto the terrace had buried it. I had to cut them back to make room to seat four people for dinner.

While annuals have traditionally been prized for their long-blooming and abundant flowers, more and more gardeners are planting them just for their leaves. This is why coleus, which fell out of favor after the turn-of-the-century bedding frenzy, has made such a brilliant comeback. Today it’s one of the most popular plants in gardening, with breeders competing to see who can come up with the most dazzling color combinations. There are coleus with huge leaves and ruffled leaves; in just about every shade of pink, yellow, green, brown, and red; and patterns from solids to stripes to paisleys.

Annuals have always been popular container plants. Why plant perennials when they’ll just have to be tossed out in the fall? Foliage is the big story here too. Indeed, it was in container arrangements that non-hardy plants like phormium (a spiky, bronze-leaved perennial in Zones 8-11), blood leaf (yes, its leaves are that red), sweet potato vine (with its smoky, lime-green, or variegated leaves), and annual fountain grass first attracted the notice of gardeners looking for a way to jazz up their garden beds and borders. I remember when a planter with asparagus fern stuck among the geraniums was considered wildly imaginative. Now it’s not unusual to see a window box without a single flowering plant in it.

Annuals come in all sizes, just as perennials do. Nicotiana sylvestris and cleome (spider flower) are tall enough to join the snakeroot and martagon lilies at the back of the border. ‘Marine’ heliotrope and some of the taller zinnias, marigolds, and pinks will hold their own alongside perennial salvias and veronicas. Low-spreading annuals that grow like groundcovers are invaluable at the front of the border or along a wall. One of my favorites is the indestructible sanvitalia (mandarin orange plant): Imagine a sunflower downsized to fit a Lilliputian vase, but with a growth habit as tenacious as creeping Jenny’s. California poppies, with their delicate pale-green leaves and creamy-gold flowers, likewise belie a stoical temperament. They need good drainage, but they actually prefer scorching sun, poor soil, and dry weather.

I’ll leave you with this idea from a man who has no qualms about tossing out last year’s plants, Scott Endres of Tangletown gardens. Recently I was complaining about the mounting death toll of marginally hardy lavenders (‘Hidcote’, ‘Munstead’) in my garden. Endres suggested growing non-hardy Fern Leaf lavenders instead. “They’ll bloom all summer with longer stems on a much happier plant,” he said.