Deadhead daily, sow for fall

The third of the alpines carries the family's whole idea in its Latin name: saxum, a stone, and frangere, to break.

The blue flower that grows higher than almost anything else in the Rockies smells of skunk, traps ants in its own glue, and carries a name that means a preacher.

The little white star of the Alps is sixty-one years famous for a song that isn't Austrian and isn't old — but the plant behind it is stranger and more demanding than the tune lets on.

A silvery, spectral sea holly turns up unbidden in gardens all over England, and the story goes that the woman it is named for put it there herself.

The strange flattened stems appearing in your cutting bed are not a disease — they are one of botany's more beautiful accidents.