Three or four years ago, my friend Joe asked me if I would be interested in a sprig of a Crambe Cordifolia--Giant Colewort, or maybe he offered it as a Giant Sea Kale (same family). Of course I said yes, without hesitation. Joe is in the business of raising flowers, and he likes to experiment with unusual varieties of cut flowers--in fact he may well be the source of the term "cutting edge." Anything Joe grows, nobody else does, and it is always interesting.
In this case, by interesting, I mean like something out of a science fiction movie. Not since I ended up with a Torch Tithonia in my very first seed pack of "garden mix, " have I been so impressed. My little sprig grew to well over five feet tall and produced an umbrel of white flowers the first year. The second year it dwarfed my perennial bed and I realized that it needed more space--like an open prairie. Lacking one, in the middle of the city, I did the next best thing and moved it into the neighbor's yard. They don't garden, and we do, so we get to use the extra space. It obligingly grew in the new place, but also in the old place. I turns out even a smidgen of root will produce a plant of giant proportions the very first year (apparently my gardening ability had nothing to do with it). So, every year, I look for a new recipient/victim in the gardening community to host my Crambe Cordifolia.
This year I thought I might have the perfect answer--the Perennial Exchange Party. It is a wonderful event that brings together neighborhood gardeners to exchange cuttings and divisions of favorite plants. I have been attending the party for several years but have become increasingly demoralized by the lack of interest in my offerings. This is due, in part, to the rule that each plant must be identified, and I have only a vague idea of what is in my garden. Rather than bring a division of some fabulous plant with no name, I fall back on the familiar. This year I decided to bring my volunteer Crambe, though of course this necessitated an emergency call to Joe an hour before the party. Even though my call reached him at the grocery store, he was still (bless his heart) able to come up with the botanical name of a plant he gave me several years ago. I labeled my healthy-looking Crambe and headed out. When called upon to describe my offering, I gave it my best shot, though in retrospect the "science fiction" allusion was perhaps not a big selling point in a neighborhood of compact yards. Nevertheless, a guy with a "what the hell" gleam in his eye picked it up in the second round of selections. It is the best I have done so far, so no complaints there. Now, I am worried about next year, when the same guy shows up and tells me that his yard is nothing but Crambes. Actually, that will realistically take two years and I just can't worry that far ahead.
