How I Wrote My New Book, "Garden Disruptors," 14

In 1993, the top pop song, Whoomp! (There It Is) could have been my theme. Except I was a music snob and wouldn't have listened to that kind of popular radio rot.

I was a plant snob too.

In 2021, during the writing of this new book, I outlined my story of a plant snob, whose new job entailed finding cool new plants. A bunch of talented people did that as a team. But it was also my job, behind the scenes, to pick what would become our major collection. A botanical garden, a living museum, often focuses research, trials, comparison and data collection on a special plant. I’d just finished a master’s in museum science. 🧪 Finding the plant became a ridicoulusly extended Goldilocks story that would stretch over all the chapters of the new book. That story goes something like this:  

When I showed up in Columbia, local horticulturists would call, on phones, with offers to invite me to see their gardens. These ostensible visits included pitches, nominations, and lobbying to get their plant to be the plant. Peg Jeffcoat, a driving force in the daylily world invited me to their fun, relaxed, delicious potluck meetings. She even set us up to be a pre-release trial garden for what became a multi-million dollar plant, Daylily Stella D’or. But to me, dayliles were already done. 

The rose folks, the iris group and the camellia society treated me to fancy lunches. Those plants didn’t work for various reasons; they were all too old or too specialized. “Too done,” said the plant snob. 

Hosta never got even a nod. Most wither away in our climate zone (USDA 8b). I believed we should ignore northern and English gardens as their softer climates had nothing to do with ours. I found inspiration in similar climates - Florida, Mexico, Argentina, parts of northern Spain, Burma or India. We considered everything from Angel Trumpet to Zephyranthes.

On a sweltering afternoon, I pulled my Toyota Tercel into a partially abandoned shopping center off a derelict road to see the “Banana Mechanic.”  I got my brakes fixed, got the banana pitch and left with roots of about 10 different bananas. "Thanks," I meant it. But I didn't say outloud, "They really all look the same."

I found lots of inspiration from what was called the tropic-issimo movement.  My coworker Jim and Melodie had been on the cutting edge of the trend. We dreamed and planted for young families to walk under towering orange Mexican sunflowers weaving with golden candelabra trees. Walks, benches and one entire fountain were subsumed by native, running dune morning glory and Blackie sweet potato vines. Orange pagado clerodendron and of course, fuschia crinum mixed with Cuban gold duranta and cat whiskers.  

I had a great budget and a talented propagation and grower team in our new nursery. No doubt lots of my professional contacts developed because I had Garden money to spend. I could order, investigate and trial the most trendy and rare. I did seek popular plants. But by popular, I mean plants the connoisseurs, the visionary horticulturists across the world were into. Not Top 40, popular piffle. 

It took a long time, lots of plant lobbyists, lots of trips, and even plant collecting trips across the globe to listen to,, look down and see it. 

In writing this new book I thought at first, no one wants to read about the search, they already know the history, the plant of course is Crinum. But then, we all know what happens with Goldilocks and we know that Monty Python finds the Holy Grail. Maybe, the seeking, the quest, the Whoomp, “There It Is” Plant Moment is actually the story.

Portrait of A Young Plant Snob