In anticipation of spring, I’m thinking about using more perennial herbs ornamentally, by planting varieties that are particularly pretty.


Lots of herbs happen to be pretty — rosemary, thyme and lavender varieties are obvious choices — but I’ve always had a deep appreciation of chives. They turn any garden into a magazine cover in May, when their violet-purple blossoms appear as jovial orbs above wispy clumps of foliage.

Chive leaves are elongated tubes, gathered and snipped as a garnish. If you pick apart the flower heads, the individual florets enliven the sight and taste of a salad. Flowering chives represent that time in May when the heat is knocking on the door, but spring — fresh and lush — is fully expressed. The March-sown salad greens are ready for picking and sprinkling with chive blossoms.

The chive watcher will know that the blossoms are magnets for bees, and bees are efficient pollinators. The blooms of May become the seeds of summer, and in a fertile, free-draining and sunny site, they soon grow into grasslike clumps. Unless you are quick to dig them up, they will become mature plants ready to repeat the cycle.

At the base of a 20-foot fence, I put in three chive plants from wee pots. With a few years, their seeding had formed a hedge along most of the fence. In the face of such fecundity, I am ruthless. After they flower, instead of removing just the blooms, I cut the entire clumps back to the ground and dig out any invaders. The chives grow back nicely over the summer, having made room for a collection of salvias.

Given this embarrassment of riches, the idea of planting more chives seems odd, but I came across some new varieties at a trade show where Mary Vaananen of Jelitto Perennial Seeds was thrilled to talk about them. Three new varieties are available this year, bred for the uniform size and texture of the foliage, and for flower color. The names aren’t that imaginative — Pink One, Purple One and White One — but at least you know what you’re getting. Started in early spring, they should bloom the first year, she said, though I wouldn’t expect too much of any perennial in its first year. Chives grow happily in pots as long as they are not neglected.

Cascading Hopflower Oregano is a gorgeous oregano variety (Courtesy of High Country Gardens)
Cascading Hopflower Oregano is a gorgeous oregano variety (Courtesy of High Country Gardens)


Oregano is an essential culinary herb, but most varieties aren’t that handsome, and some are too eager to spread, especially the flavorless wild marjoram. For culinary use, the Italian oregano, Origanum x majoricum, “is the best all-purpose oregano,” says Virginia herb expert Francesco DeBaggio. And, as a clumper, it doesn’t spread. Some oreganos are truly beautiful, even if their flavor falls off, and the prettiest have blooms with stacked bracts in the manner of hops — akin to a Hawaiian lei.


Kent Beauty is a small, mounding plant with pendulous stems ending in these strange blooms, which endure for weeks. They will come through a reasonably mild winter, but only if they are planted in amended, well-draining soil. If they’re in (freeze-proof) containers, they are best placed in a sheltered corner of the garden until March.

This year, I might grow a related plant named Dittany of Crete. It, too, has those attractive bracts above bluish-gray mouse-ear leaves, and it’s marginally hardy. The one I really want to try is the larger but floppy hopflower oregano, O. libanoticum, festooned with pale green bracts tipped with pink flowers.

The summer perennial named helenium was once used to make snuff. The variety Kanaria ranked as the top performer in a recent trial. (Courtesy of Mt. Cuba Center)
The summer perennial named helenium was once used to make snuff. The variety Kanaria ranked as the top performer in a recent trial. (Courtesy of Mt. Cuba Center)


Heleniums are summer flowering daisies that may qualify as herbs in that dried and ground parts were an alternative to the powdered tobacco snuff that people used to snort. It was a strange habit but not a particularly anti-social one, though it caused people to sneeze. Heleniums, thus, are known as sneezeweed. They are valuable garden plants, blooming merrily during the hottest weeks. They have a couple of weaknesses. The clumps get tall and top-heavy with bare ankles, making them challenging to place with other perennials. And they can get powdery mildew, a disease that, at best, renders them unsightly.

Mt. Cuba, the native plant garden and research center in Hockessin, Delaware, recently released a study of the best — and worst — helenium varieties. The gardeners spent three years evaluating traits such as disease resistance, flower performance and stem sturdiness, and identified 10 top performers out of a field of 44 types.

The highest-scoring variety was Kanaria, a solid yellow helenium lauded for its length of bloom, flower show and other attributes. It grows to five feet and blooms from early August into September. Other top plants included two species: the especially long-flowering and compact Helenium flexuosum, as well as the late-season H. autumnale and its variant Can Can. Zimbelstern and the orange-red Flammenspiel also excelled.

The staking problem is minimized if you cut back spring growth to 12 inches in May — the plants regenerate bushier, and blooming is delayed a week or two, which is not a bad thing. You could attend to that between admiring your chives and picking those plump lettuce heads.