Life has had its ups and downs this past growing season, but in my yard, lavender—Lavendula—has experienced one long “up”. The fragrant herb grows throughout the mixed borders, but is planted en masse in the bed by the driveway that is home to my hybrid musk rose collection. Today, in mid November, one of those plants has chosen to throw out a few purple blooms, which marks an unprecedented third time flowers have appeared since the first flush in late spring. If there are any bees or other pollinators left in the neighborhood, I am sure they will stop by. The plant’s nearby lavender siblings, while not blooming, are as big and expansive as I have ever seen them. New Jersey has not turned into the Mediterranean overnight, so sensible gardeners have to ask, “What gives?”
Like the roses with whom it frequently associates, lavender is a shrub. Delving into the realm of sub-classification, it is a “woody subshrub”, which means that it has shrubby or woody basal stems, but the top growth is non-woody and more like that of perennial plants. In the last decade or so, another “woody subshrub”, aromatic Russian sage—Perovskia atriplicifolia—has grown increasingly popular. It is one of lavender’s closest botanical relations within the Labiatae or mint family.
To figure out why my lavender has exploded this year, I start by looking at the growing requirements for the genus and species, in this case, traditional English lavender or Lavendula angustifolia. The varieties are the old faithful ‘Munstead’ and ‘Hidcote’, so none of the plants in question fall into the “new and improved” category. Generally, these species/varieties like full sun, lean soil, excellent drainage and annual or semi-annual pruning. Mine have the requisite southern exposure, which gives them as much sun as any plant is going to get in this latitude. The soil in their bed started out exceptionally lean seventeen years ago. I have amended it over the years to make the roses happy, but I think the soil is still leaner than the ideal for most perennial plants. Pruning is well-intentioned, though somewhat haphazard.
The main problem for any lavender in this corner of the world is that the soil is moisture-retentive, heavy clay. Under normal circumstances, that soil holds water like a sponge and thrives on killing off drainage-loving plants like lavender with a good dose of root rot. Since I like lavender and relish a challenge, I fill the planting holes around young lavenders with a mix of soil and fine gravel. This works pretty well, though I still have to replace at least one plant every spring.
This year nothing changed for my lavender, yet it leaped out of the earth like it was on steroids and continued to grow tall and bloom superbly all season. It had to be the weather.
Last winter was relatively short on snow, so the plants were not especially well insulated against icy breezes. Perhaps those blasts of wind reminded the lavender of the mistral that overtakes the lavender fields of Provence in the winter/spring transition period. Our spring was long and cool, interrupted in the early weeks by hard frosts that nipped most of the hydrangea buds. Because of all that, the lavender roots had to endure cold, wet soil for quite a long time. The sweat-provoking high humidity that defines this area in late spring and summer was only moderately bad this past growing season and we endured substantial drought, especially at the end.
It’s possible that my lavender got just enough water at the right times in spring and summer, but not too much. I didn’t mulch the roses as thoroughly as I normally do, so the soil was probably a bit more lean and dry than it has been in other years. I didn’t shear back the lavender after it bloomed, so the plants just kept on growing larger. The drought, which started in late July or early August, has continued, largely unabated. It probably helped keep the plants going this long.
My near neighbors don’t grow lavender, so I can’t ask how their plants have fared this year. In my town, the clamor arising from scores of hydrangea lovers complaining about their flower-less shrubs may have drowned out the sounds of a much smaller number of gardeners praising their burgeoning lavender plants. The jury is still out on the whole issue.
All I know is that for millennia, the scent of lavender has been reputed to provoke calm, consolation and pain relief. Maybe in this year when I needed all of those things, the lavender simply responded.