This is the story of an onion that will bring you to tears, but not for the reason you probably think. It's called an allium, a bonafide member of the onion family, that you'll crave for your garden, not for your plate. Each spring, it explodes in fireworks of blooms, rivaling anything you'd blast into the sky onFourth of July and accidentally set fire to your neighbor's lawn.

So why do so few people plant it?

Grumpy guesses it's either because they can't slice it for burgers or they find it so beautiful, they surmise it must be a pain-in-the-tush to grow. Neither is true. Most alliums are easier to grow than those big, gaudy tulips that disappoint you every year. They thrive from the Upper South (Zone 6) to the Coastal South (Zone 9A). They come back year after year and those stinking deer and voles won't touch them.

Although some alliums bloom in summer, most bloom in spring. Of the spring-bloomers, three types make up the lion's share of what Grumpians plant every year -- Allium aflatuenense, A. giganteum, and A. 'Globemaster' (pictured above and right). They're all about the same purple color, but the blooms vary in size. The first sports rounded blooms the size of tennis balls; the second, the size of softballs; and the third, the size of Mars (not really -- more like volleyballs). The blooms stand tall on sturdy stems from 2 to 5 feet tall and make spectabulous cut flowers. 

But hey -- what if you one of those weirdo people who just can't stand the color purple? Then complain to Oprah Winfrey, not the Grump.

Oh -- wait a minute. We're talking actual colors here, not movies. Well, fortunately, you can find alliums that are various shades of pink, rose, red, blue, and yellow. White too. Of course, not all are the size of Mars or even Kanye West's ego. 

Here is one I like -- Allium stipatatum 'White Giant.' This late spring bloomer stands 36 to 48 inches tall and produces blossoms 6 to 8 inches wide. Each little floret making up the ball has a tiny black eye (probably from an argument with Kanye West).

Time to Plant

Now is the time to get these bulbs into the ground. Look for them at your local garden or home center. If you can't find them, two excellent mail-order sources are Van Engelen (who generously donated these photos) and John Scheepers.

Plant the bulbs 6 to 8 inches deep and 8 to 10 inches apart in fertile, well-drained soil. Give them full sun. Combining them with later-blooming perennials helps hide the foliage that often starts to die back before blooming finishes.

Don't cut down the spent flowers of these mega-bloomers! Let the flowers dry on the stems for several weeks until they turn brown. The star-shaped seedheads look like sparklers and are perfect for dried flower arrangements.

Think summer flowers for shade and what comes to mind? Impatiens? Impatiens? More Impatiens? Well, here's a nifty flower I really like that you've probably never heard of. It blooms all summer and for many of us, it comes back year after year.

It's called Achimenes 'Purple King.' Wonder how to pronounce it? OK, I'll help you. PURR-PULL KING.

Oh, it's firstword you're having trouble with. Sorry. That's pronounced UH-KIM-EN-EES. There are many different kinds, native to the tropics, and they're related to African violets and gloxinias. Where we live, most aren't very cold-hardy and are relegated  to growing in hanging baskets and containers. But 'Purple King' is hardy to 0 degrees -- which means many of us can grow it in the ground. 

These have been growing in a little square planting bed outside of our lobby at Southern Living for years. (No doubt any co-workers reading this will feel ashamed for never asking me what they are. Ignorance is bliss.) The plant grows about 6 inches high and has trailing stems. Showy, blue-violet flowers, about 1-2 inches wide, appear atop handsome, glossy, burgundy-green foliage. They remind me of the blooms of Mexican petunia (Ruellia).

How to Grow

'Purple King' grows from a rhizome that you plant in fall or spring. It's late to sprout in spring, sometimes as late as May, so don't give up on it too early. It likes moist, well-drained soil and shade. Don't plant it where the soil stays wet in winter. If the plant is not hardy where you live, dig and store the rhizomes over winter in a cool, dry place and replant it spring.

Where to Get It

Although in truth the Grump is the only person alive who really "gets it," you can obtain this fine perennial from Plant Delights.

A while back, the Grump linked to highly intelligent garden bloggers from across the country, so that each of us could present "The Six Plants I Can't Live Without." It was a lot of fun and incited a lot of discussion and possible future warfare. The July 2009  issue of Southern Living mentions this blogathon, so if you missed it the first time and would like to see which plants His Grumpiness picked, click this link.

 

Many of you are asking: "Will the rain ever stop?" So I consulted Jim Cantore, Gonzo Hurricane Chaser and Prophet of Doom for the Weather Channel. The answer is, "No. It's going to rain every day until the last vestige of Earth disappears under the water on December 21, 2012. Get your end-of-days plan ready."

The scene above was the Grump's croquet court just two weeks ago. Oh, how I loved quaffing sherry while hobnobbing among the wickets with my high and mighty society friends who wouldn't be seen with the likes of you! But now it's just another malarial swamp choked by weeds and patrolled by water moccasins. And I was on the verge of beating the tar out of Prince Charles and Warren Buffett!

Now a lot of people will undoubtedly be depressed to learn that it's going to rain every single day for the rest of their lives. But I say it all depends on how you look at it. Is the glass half-full or is it filled to overflowing? If it's the latter, put on a happy face and fill your world with wonderful water-loving plants to brighten your day for the remaining three or so years we all have left. Here are some trees, shrubs, flowers, and bulbs you should plant right now between bolts of lightning.

The Grump's Favorite Trees for Wet Soil

1. Bald Cypress (Taxodium distichum) *

2. Sweet bay (Magnolia virginiana)

3. Red or swamp maple (Acer rubrum)

4.  Water tupelo (Nyssa aquatica) *

5. Sycamore (Plantanus occidentalis)

* Tolerates submerged roots

Fave Shrubs for Wet Soil

 Virginia sweetspire -- spring bloom

1. Buttonbush (Cephalanthus occidetalis) *

2. Summersweet (Clethra alnifolia)

3. Virginia sweetspire (Itea virginica)

4. Wax myrtle (Myrica cerifera)

5. Winterberry (Ilex verticillata) *

* Tolerates submerged roots

Beauteous Boggy Bloomers

Cardinal flower -- hummingbird favorite

1. Cardinal flower (Lobelia cardinalis) *

2. Crinum lily (Crinum sp).

3. Ginger lily (Hedychium sp.)

4. Ironweed (Vernonia sp).

5. Japanese primrose (Primula japonica)

6. Joe-Pye weed (Eupatorium pupureum)

7. Pitcher plant (Sarracenia sp,)

8. Canna (Canna sp.) *

9. Texas star (Hibiscus coccineus) *

10. Yellow flag (Iris pseudacorus) *

* Will tolerate submerged roots

Water Hyacinth Warning!!

Once you know the whole world is going to drown, invasive plants don't seem that big a deal. Nonetheless, I am honor bound by my sacred oath sworn before the Order of the Pink Flamingo to warn you about those pretty lilac-colored flowers floating on the water in the shot of my former pleasure garden. They are water hyacinths (Eichhornia crassipes), one of the worst water-loving plants you can inflict on nature. They're OK in an aquarium or birdbath, but releasing them into the wild where they're cold-hardy (Zone 7 and below) is like setting loose Charlie Sheen in the showgirls' dressing room. Things get out of control. Water hyacinths multiply incredibly fast and eventually cover large bodies of water. The sweep of them above probably started from a single plant some jerk threw out about 15 minutes ago.     

Grumpians, what six plants if eliminated from the Universe would drive you to the brink of despair? That is the monumental question I and other bloggers from around the country wrestle with this week. Read my list below, then click on the links to read the other blogs. Don't agree with our choices? Tell us yours!

1. Native Azaleas—Evergreen azaleas from Japan and China may be more popular than federal bail-outs, but give me our deciduous native azaleas every time. Each spring, I marvel at their grace, beauty, range of flower colors, and sweet fragrance. If God has made better plants, I have yet to meet them.The flowers shown above belong to Piedmont azalea (Rhododendron canascens), which is quite common in our Alabama woods. My garden also contains Florida flame azalea (R. austrinum), Alabama azalea (R. alabamense), Oconee azalea (R. flammeum), and the summer-blooming plumleaf azalea (R. prunifolium). Go native, Grumpiana! 

2. Narcissus—Tulips may be gaudier and come in more colors, but daffodils and jonquils are the best garden bulbs for the South -- period. They come back year after year, rodents don't eat them, and many naturalize and spread to form drifts. Because they live so long with so little care, many become heirlooms passed from generation to generation. You can't say that about tulips. And the simple fact is this -- no other plant signals spring is nigh better than the earliest, cheery yellow daffodils. On my list of favorite Narcissus -- 'Avalon,'  'Bell Song,' 'Falconet,' 'Geranium,' 'Hawera,' 'Ice Follies,' 'Intrigue,' 'Jetfire,' 'Minnow,' 'Quail,' and 'Trevithian.'

3. Spanish moss—Like gray shawls draping the shoulders of old women, the long, airy beards of Spanish moss are the South's most iconic symbol. I remember growing up in Maryland and returning with bags filled with with this ephiphyte from our trips to the Carolinas. We knew Spanish moss wouldn't survive winter up there and also needed moisture to survive, so we hung it in our laundry room. Too bad we forgot it also needs light. Spanish moss loves the lowlands and always grows its lushest near the water where the air hangs heavy like wet towels. It prefers certain trees over others -- you often see it dangling from branches of live oaks, magnolias, and cypresses, but hardly ever from pines. Thanks to global warming, it's now thriving in a neighbor's tree in Birmingham.

4. Lenten rose (Helleborus orientalis)—This is one of those plants I love because it gives me what no other plant does -- about two months of blooms beginning in early February. Eat your hearts out, Wisconsin cheeseheads! Hybridizers have come up with a dazzling array of new colors and floral patterns, but I'm content with the simple white and rose. The evergreen foliage is pretty year-round, the plant is carefree and tolerates drought, and seedlings provide many new plants. In my opinion, this and hosta are the top two perennials for shade. But since everyone (including bin Laden) grows hostas, I'm picking this. 

5. 'Antares' mum—Haven't heard of this flower? There's no reason that you should. It's an old, unidentified, passalong mum that I named for the first-magnitude, red giant star in the constellation Scorpio. It's a tall, floppy mum that will grow up a trellis if you let it and it also spreads by roots. It blooms very late, often not until mid-November. My father got it from his cousin, Welcome, many years ago in Maryland. Then I transplanted a clump to my house in Alabama. Each time it blooms, I remember where it came from. Wherever I end up, I'm taking it with me. My wife can come too.

6. Kudzu—Maybe I was wrong about Spanish moss. Maybe this vine is the South's most iconic symbol. It grows over a much wider range. Heck, it grows over just about everything. Brought to the South for erosion control, cattle feed, and shade for porches, kudzu (Pueraria lobata) has been much reviled for covering the world like Sherwin-Williams. But it has its good side -- every part of the plant is edible and you just haven't lived until you've relished some deep-fried kudzu leaves. Kudzu is so ingrained in the Southern environment and culture that if it disappeared tomorrow, we wouldn't recognize the place. I mean, what would we use to cover old school buses, rusty propane tanks, and abandoned houses? Kudzu, we need you now more than ever. 

Check Out These Excellent Blogs for More Plants Folks Can't Live Without 

Defining Your Home Garden. Written by Cameron in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.

Digging. Written by Pam in Austin, Texas.

Diggin' It. Written by Judy in Boston, Massachussetts.

Fairegarden. Written by Frances in somewhere in Tennessee..

Fresh Dirt. Written by garden editors at Sunset in California and Washington.

Gardening with Confidence. Written by Helen in Raleigh, NC.

Hoe & Shovel. Written by Meems in central Florida.

Sweet Home and Garden Chicago. Written by Carolyn in the Windy City.

Mea culpa! Some of you have written asking what happened to Jim Long's list. It's totally the Grump's fault. I neglected to send him the correct date for the blogathon. You can still read Jim's list in the comments below. Sorry about that, everybody!

OK, please tell me you get the pun of this clever title. Because I think what I did with these nice little bulbs is very clever and I'd like to think that you are too.

For many people, the magical sudden appearance of crocus blooms are the surest sign that spring is nigh. As happy as you are to see crocus, squirrels and chipmunks are even happier.

Everyone loves amaryllis. After it finishes blooming, though, you're probably wondering, "What the heck do I do with it now? Should I just throw it out?"

This was the question posed by Debbie, a curious and obviously committed reader. She writes, "What are the necessary steps to do afterward if you want that same bulb to grow and bloom again?  How many times can you do this process before the bulb  will no longer grow and bloom again? I am a novice with plants, so please give me step by step instruction."

Debbie, you are indeed fortunate. You have contacted the all-knowing Grump, who has been blooming the same amaryllis bulbs year after year. It's easy to do if you follow these steps.

1. After the flowers fade, cut off the bloom stalk. If the pot doesn't have a drainage hole, transplant the bulb to a slightly bigger pot that has one.  Fill the pot with fresh potting soil and plant the bulb so that its top third shows above the soil surface. Your bulb can stay in this same pot for many years.

2. Large, strappy leaves will emerge from the bulb. Place the pot near a bright window until it's warm enough to set the bulb outside. When it is, place the bulb in a sunny spot. Water often enough the keep the leaves firm and prevent them from wilting or turning brown along the edges. Every couple of weeks, feed the bulb using liquid 20-20-20 fertilizer.

3. Continue this practice until September. Then cease feeding and reduce watering to once a week. Come October, stop watering entirely. After the leaves turn yellow, cut them off. Take the pot inside before a frost and place it in a cool, dark area. Ignore it for the next two months.

4. When the two months are up, water once more and wait to see signs of life. If things go well, you should see a big, fat green flower bud emerge from the top of the bulb. At this point, bring the pot and bulb back into the light and begin watering normally. After it finishes blooming, go back to step 1.

One thing you have to know is that amaryllises normally bloom in spring, not in December. The ones that bloom for Christmas are grown in greenhouses to get them to behave that way. If you want amaryllis blooms for Christmas, buy some that are blooming then. The Grump finds it easier to let the bulbs do their own thing.

Shaken or stirred... it just doesn't matter.

Forcing paperwhite narcissus into bloom indoors is about the easiest and most fun thing to do around the holidays. I know this because it's the only gardening activity my wife, the plant hater, likes to do.