LEAN ON ME: PLANTS NEED SUPPORT IN THE SOUTHERN GARDEN

"Lean on me," sang Bill Withers in his R&B hit from 1972, "when you're not strong/And I'll be your friend, I'll help you carry on."

One of my new dahlias, enjoying the support of a metal arbor

As Withers knew, everyone needs someone to lean on. No matter how strong we appear, there are times when we could all use some sturdy support. That's true for people, and it's even truer for plants, especially in my garden at this time of year. Although our corner of upstate South Carolina is closer to the Blue Ridge Mountains than the Low Country, meaning snow and ice in January are to be expected, we still have torrid summers (like this one!), and an extremely long growing season. Add a generally abundant rainfall average to the climate, and summer conditions approach semi-tropical, with vines and foliage appearing to grow before one's eyes, and decomposition, in the form of several species of root rot, flourishing.

Now that I'm experienced with these climate conditions over many years, I've learned to plan ahead, and to offer structures for those shrubs and perennials I know will be big, or tall, or both, by July. Such plants will need some sort of metal or wooden support placed permanently over their bases, or a structure will need to be temporarily sited when growth begins in spring and pulled out for storage after frost kills the foliage.

For these purposes, I have been known to haunt nurseries and garden centers during end-of-summer sales, snapping up any marked-down tuteurs, obelisks or peony stands, and even the (very) occasional arbor, because while the density of plants in my garden is reaching a critical saturation point (CSP), I cannot seem to curb my addiction for buying anything with leaves and roots!

Here, then, are some tips for making the best use of supports in the garden:

ARBORS

Wooden arbor with 'Noble' muscadines

Arbors have a way of infusing romance into gardens, even the most prosaic ones. That may be because each one represents a portal, a doorway, holding out the promise of transition when we pass through, and discovery as we emerge into something new. Arbors serve not just as doors but as windows, framing a view, which is why you want to make the most of any plantings glimpsed through that window, and why the arbor creates the most appealing effect when the structure hosts a plethora of romantic, fragrant, and even edible plants.

On the wooden arbor that marks the entrance to our kitchen garden, I have grown everything from climbing roses to moonflower vine to morning glories, gourd squash and purple hyacinth bean, whose seeds were a souvenir from Thomas Jefferson's garden at Monticello. Nowadays, however, all other vines and ramblers have been crowded out by my prized muscadine grapevine, 'Noble,' which bears dark purple grapes in late summer from which I make organic wine.

The arbor was ordered by my husband years ago, and while I have always loved it, the weather (see 'decomposition,' above) has been hard on it. With climate change accelerating, we have experienced some very damaging storms in our small town. As I wrote about in the blog post from Oct. 19, 2024 ("The Last Supper Party"), Hurricane Helene took down massive oak trees, maples and pecan trees all over our neighborhood, pulling down power lines and closing roads. A week ago, in the midst of the brutal heat wave most Americans have experienced, a storm blew out of the northwest and a microburst, with horizontal rain and winds clocked at 60 mph, felled an enormous Norway maple in our backyard. If I could acquire a support structure for fully grown shade trees, I would do so. But so far, I am limited to plant supports far shorter than 60 feet!

Our maple was taken down by a microburst.

The propensity for wild summer storms in our area is one reason why I don't recommend wooden arbors. Our arbor is rooted to its spot with poured cement, the gate hung from the posts and a rabbit-deterring wire fence enclosing the plot. And yet, severe storms have twisted the arched arbor on its posts, with the enormously strong 'Noble' contributing additional contortions. When the grape harvest is heavy on the vine in late summer, I am always fearful that the weight will make the structure top-heavy in a high wind, but so far the posts have held and so has the vine. For that I am grateful.

An abundance of plant supports are needed in the kitchen garden.

Metal arbors may be the more durable choice in our decomposition-prone region, but sturdy ones are far less affordable. Before the recession stripped our wishlist of such frivolities, my husband and I bought a beautiful and substantial metal arbor at Logan's Nursery in Raleigh and had it shipped to us here in S. C. It forms a picture at the eastern border of our fenced yard, where the lifelike statue of an owl occupies pride of place on a plinth above a sea of crowded hellebores and liriope, and has led to our calling this patch The Owl's Garden. This avian theme is appropriate, considering that the arbor is decorated with metal figures of birds and leaves, appendages which offer extra support for clambering vines.

Moonflower grows on the metal arbor

A Chinese snowball bush grows on the sunnier side of this arbor, while a tall cedar, Thuja occidentalis 'DeGroot's Spire,' occupies the shadier path-side alongside a rangy white azalea, one of the earliest shrubs to bloom in the spring. I have a very talented Charlotte landscape designer, Bruce Clodfelter, to thank for the longevity of my DeGroot's. When I was interviewing him years ago for a magazine article and touring his garden, he showed me how he helps strengthen the form of certain pyramidal evergreens and protects them from ice storms by wrapping coated wire around and through the trunk and branches. Having lost arborvitae to heavy ice in the past, I did this on my cedar, attaching the narrow tree to the upper portion of the arbor for good measure. The wire is invisible and does seem to aid the tree during icy winters.

The arbor has borne a number of vines that flourished and then died, including a regrettably short-lived but wonderfully fragrant cultivar of the evergreen clematis, C. armandii 'Snowdrift,' whose snow-white flowers in late winter scented the air with the perfume of sugared almonds for exactly one season. That's right, a year later it was dead, and I still haven't learned my lesson about spending too much for new introductions. Where would be the fun in that?

Thriving on the bird arbor now for many seasons has been the chocolate vine, Akebia quinata, but my advice is: don't try this at home. I was lured into buying it on account of the dainty purple flowers that are chocolate-scented, but once established, this vine proved invasive, with tendrils popping up all over the garden. The birds like it, however, with a pair of Carolina wrens usually setting up a nest in the mass of vines that twine through the arbor's peaked crown. It holds their young quite capably.

Akebia quinata, the chocolate vine

Inexpensive metal arbors, like the ones easily ordered online, are a better bet if you want flexibility, as these can be installed and moved with relative ease. I use two of these in the veggie garden where they offer support for tomatoes and pole beans. Earlier in the season, I also installed one in my terraced back garden, in the main bed. The hurricane pulled down three arborvitae I had grown there as a screen for well over a dozen years, and once they were hauled away, I realized I like the bed better without them, mainly because it now receives more sunlight and air circulation. 

In that section where the arborvitaes had been I planted a Pollinator Garden that matured in September, with Sedum 'Autumn Joy,' variegated liriope, Northern sea oats (Chasmanthium latifolium), lantana, native beautyberry, comfrey, bee balm (Monarda) (and Mexican petunia (Ruellia simplex) with its bright blue flowers on tall stalks that are so appealing to bees. 

This year I wanted to add dahlias to the mix because I love their colors and because this section of my garden is now so sunny. Two dahlias which I bought in the mountains at the Garden Jubilee this May went into this plot under the arbor, including my favorite, 'Cafe au Lait.' Too late, I discovered that pollinators avoid the dinnerplate varieties of dahlias because the dense petals are too much of a struggle. They do, however, appreciate the pollen on single varieties ('Bishop of Llandaff'), collarettes, and anemone types. 

'Cafe au Lait' is popular for its enormous creamy blooms, up to 10' wide and is a favorite in bridal bouquets. The plant itself can grow up to four feet tall or more, and if it does, I will be able to support the plant by tying it to the arbor overhead, as I do with the tomatoes. While the dahlias continue to bloom and grow, a moonflower vine is twining up the arbor and  when it is fully grown it will offer some relief from the sun to plants below.

Rosa banksiae 'Alba' on pergola

The largest metal arbor we employ in the garden isn't an arbor, actually, but a pergola. In our backyard, bordering the small deck accessed by our back door, we needed to create shade when we first moved in. We constructed the 10'x12' pergola from a kit obtained at a big-box store and while we did have shade, the canvas cover frequently blew off in bad weather. Frustrated, we eventually removed the cover and planted sun-lovers at the base of the pergola that would provide shade with their foliage.

If I could go back in time for a do-over, I would. One of the most successful plants in that backyard scheme has proven to be the most difficult to manage. That's because this Rosa banksiae 'Alba,' the white flowered Lady Banks rose, clambered over every inch of the pergola and wanted more: sending out long canes in all directions and responding to prunings by growing with madly increased vigor. We keep it for its gorgeous, cinnamon-colored bark, and the sprays of white flowers that bloom in April if a late frost hasn't blasted them. But almost daily I ask myself if it is worth the trouble. Some plants adapt to our growing conditions too well!  

TUTEURS

Dahlias planted elsewhere in the garden need to be supported individually. This is where my inventory of tuteurs comes in handy. In French, this word 'tuteur' has double usage but a basic single meaning. It can refer to both an academic tutor/mentor, and also a plant support, but in both cases the word conveys support for growth and development. (Cool word, n'est ce pas?) In my garden, they are indispensable. I site them permanently for roses, dahlias and clematis. Dahlias, especially, can get very tall and floppy once rain has accelerated their growth. Since I no longer bother to dig up dahlia tubers and store them over winter, I mulch them through the cold months to lend protection. The tuteur provides a stable framework to hold leaves, branches, dismembered Christmas trees and pine bark to great effect.

Pink cactus-style dahlia grows tall!

My favorite tuteur is a recent purchase I made at Southern Roots in Belmont, NC. I intended it for a certain cactus variety dahlia I've tended for several years and which always outgrows the improvised tomato cage support I've provided. I was very surprised when I installed the tuteur and realized that the round black balls topping the metal stakes in a circle exactly mirrored the dahlia's buds. Susan's Law dictates that the loveliest combinations of plants, or plants and structures in my garden, will nearly always be accidental. I'm not complaining.

I have collected more than a few roses over the years, and I think I'm not alone in believing that nearly every rose, except a massive rambler or a ground cover rose, deserves to grow with a tuteur as its constant companion. 

Most of the roses are concentrated in my sunny Gravel Garden on the southeastern quadrant of the cultivated yard, including a couple of prized, but finicky, David Austin English roses, 'Jude the Obscure,' and 'Lady of Shallott.' If you own pets, you will find that the support offers some protection from dogs and cats messing with the rose's crown by keeping them at a distance, but mostly the tuteur is intended to support branches and show the flowers to their best advantage. 

David Austin rose, 'Lady of Shallott' on tuteur with salvia

July is not a glorious month for roses: the old garden roses (OGRs) have finished blooming and those varieties still brave enough to send out buds will quickly have them chewed to shreds by Japanese beetles. Cut the plant back conservatively if it seems to be struggling, but keep tying it to the supports and mulching the base. If storms come along, the tuteurs prevent the plants from rocking back and forth on their roots and deflect dead or breaking branches from trees that would otherwise smash them flat. Roses catch their second wind with autumn's cooler temps and shorter days, getting another chance to shine before the year ends.

PEONY STANDS, STAKES & MORE

No southern garden is complete without at least one peony blooming in April, the best suited being 'Festiva Maxima,' as well as passalong peonies. I have the latter growing in my garden; they were bequeathed me by my next-door neighbor. When they bloom in late April, these no-name peonies display a cluster of frilled white petals at the center, surrounded by a ring of blush-colored petals. The effect is that of a pink plate served up with a dollop of whipped cream.

It's a mistaken belief that peonies require a lot of care, but in fact, if they are planted in well-drained soil with lots of organic material, have a fairly sunny site, and get a feeding in early spring, they perform marvelously with little fuss. 

Peony stalks first emerge in late winter as finger-like red foliage thrusting upwards from the soil. This is the time to insert a peony stand, which consists of a circular piece of metal criss-crossed by a grid of metal sticks, the grid held in place about one foot above the buds by three pointed metal stakes. These go into the soil outside the crown of the plant and hold the grid in place for emerging stalks. When it rains, peonies in flower become heavy with water and droop so deeply over the ground that the flowers cannot be seen, much less admired. With a stand, they are held higher, but even then it may be necessary to plant single-flower metal stakes in the ground to hold the blossoms up. (These stakes are coated metal of varying lengths with loops at the end to hold the stalks upright). 

Peonies emerging

I use single-flower stakes for almost every tall-growing plant in the garden, including iris, gladiolus, bee balm, true lilies and more. Keep your collection of stakes in a bucket in your potting shed and you'll always have one handy for a floppy flower.

Since peonies, once happily established, can be very long-lived (up to 100 years!), they are worth staking permanently. I have stands in place with all my peonies and they remain there throughout the year, unless a peony needs to be divided. These perennials have abundant foliage, so when the plant is in flower the metal grid is virtually invisible. This is also true for my clumps of Tradescantia 'Sweet Kate', as spiderwort foliage is soft and floppy. By propping up the leaves and stalks, the gorgeous purple flowers are shown to best advantage. And stands have proved useful for my Siberian iris, since these small tubers can become overrun by rampant growth in the beds, and with the stands in place, I know where the irises will emerge in spring.

S. iris 'Sparkling Rose' with stand

Use your imagination in finding objects that can provide support to growing plants - for instance, when I've run out of tuteurs, I use tomato cages to sustain tall herbaceous plants like salvia and oatgrass. Some shrubs, like Hydrangea 'Annabelle,' have floppy stalks and flowerheads at maturity. I solve that problem with my 'Annabelle' by circling the base in winter with a length of low wire border edging. By summertime, the shrub has grown sufficiently to hide the edging wire, so it continues to do the job invisibly of holding the flowers higher on their stalks and keeping the stalks vertical. The same technique works with certain cultivars of rudbeckia, salvia and ginger lilies.

Lillium 'Stargazer,' staked and with
peony stand

There's a lot more to gardening than merely tending, watering and weeding, as we all know. I think of the plants as 'performers' in the year-round 'show' that is my garden, and myself as a kind of stage manager, doing my best to give them the support they need at the height of their season, while moving props around as weather and space require. We all get a well-deserved break come winter, but even then, the plants in the garden know that I will help them carry on. I will always have something in place for them to lean on!

The stunning 'Veilchenblau' rose rambles with the help of a rose 'tree' given to me by a friend

 

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