WALLFLOWERS TAKE THE DANCE FLOOR

It always seemed to me wall owers couldn’t catch a break. eir Latin name, Erysimum, sounds stu ed with the wrong number of syllables. If said without con dence, or to the nonhorticulturally inclined, there’s a decent chance of sounding like you’re under the in uence. e common name, “wall ower,” made me think of my parents’ generation.

To them, a wall ower was someone, typically female, who was clinging to the walls of a ballroom or high school gym because they hadn’t been asked to dance. (Because the onus was on them to be desired, but that’s a topic for another day.) Adding to the confusion is that related Cherianthus were also called wall owers, but now they all are called Erysimum.

However, in that assumption I was, not for the rst time, mistaken. e name more likely means literally a ower that will grow in walls, which is kind of a superpower when you think about it.

Like many English cottage garden favorites, I read about Erysimum long before I met them IRL, probably in books by Gertrude Jekyll and Louise Beebe Wilder when I rst became a gardener. E. ‘Bowle’s Mauve’, the longtime standard, was imprinted on me as a longblooming stalwart, but I found the watery violet color uninspiring, so I subconsciously led it under “non-essential plants” for me. Fast forward to life in the Paci c Northwest, where I had to retrieve that name out of the dusty mental le when I met new cultivars beyond “Bowles’s Mauve” — and they bowled me over. ey bloomed. I cut them. ey bloomed more. For weeks. Finally, they waned, and I cut them back fairly hard. ey made it through summer and in September, bloomed again — and returned next March to do it all over again!

Suddenly there were new colors — reds, yellows, tangerine orange, and all kinds of blends combining all my favorite hot colors in sundae swirls of orange/red, yellow/peach/ purple, raspberry/purple. And the clincher? Not all, but most, had a delightful, honeyed oral fragrance.

I planted some E. “Apricot Twist” (because orange is my kryptonite) early on in my rst years of gardening at our house in what would prove to be some really tough neighborhoods — spots choked by hawthorn and bay laurel roots, shaded by our house.

I can hear you saying, “What’s the catch?” e catch is that then they disappeared. It turns out there are several reasons for this. Wall owers are some of the bloomingest perennials in the garden — even better than yarrows and perennial salvia, which give a whisper of a second show a er being cut back. Many are sterile, not setting seed, so that prolongs their blooming. However, they burn so fast and bright, they just can’t keep it up inde nitely. Some are biennial, dying a er owering in their second season. ey also prefer gritty, well-drained soil rather than the clay against my fence (wall- ower, remember?). Nonetheless, their attributes make them more than earn their place in my garden. ey o er such delight blooming in our gray time of need (March-Mayish, sometimes longer), and those mixed colors are fabulous at bridging color combinations in the garden, pot, or vase. (Lime, red, or purple foliage looks great with any of them.) Here in Seattle, they may be evergreen.

Gardens Illustrated magazine from the UK suggests regular cutting back to refresh the foliage and keep them from growing in the loosey-goosey way they can and taking insurance cuttings in July just in case. Erysimum are so popular in England they are apparently sold bareroot in the fall, which I’ve never seen here — but would like to!

Some varieties to look for:

“Bowles’ Mauve” — this classic is readily available, and can ower for up to nine months, says Gardens illustrated, but unfortunately, has no fragrance.

“Walberton’s Fragrant Star” — lemon yellow/ plum owers with knockout variegated foliage

“Apricot Twist” — eggplant buds open to orange owers, nice scent.

“Winter Orchid” — the Winter series is touted for larger owers and a long bloom time. Orchid’s owers emerge red, turning purple for a delicious bicolor e ect. Lightly scented.

Erysimum × marshallii ere are new choices coming out every year, so pick your favorite, and hit the dance oor.

“Orange Bedder” — groundcover biennial from Siberia that o en self-sows for years.