Vol 84, Issue No. 2 (Spring 2026)
CONTENTS
The View from the Vice President By Susan Schnare
An Interview With Jodie Mitchell By Laurel Chute
Juneau Chapter Update
Midwest Primula Group Update
New England Chapter Update
Judge Training 2026
Primula Species in the Rock Garden By Daniel Hendrickson
ICRA Update
Minutes of the Board February 21, 2026
Officers of the Chapters
THE VIEW FROM THE VICE PRESIDENT
Susan Schnare
MY GARDEN DISASTER
. . . . it didn’t happen overnight.
Over fifty-some years my garden has seen many ups and downs. Loosely enclosed by stones that once supported a c. 1800 barn and the earthen ramp that formed its access, the garden has heavy, rich loam and is bordered to the east by a babbling brook and vast forest. I acquired the site in my early twenties by crowding my father’s pole beans out with my herbs and medieval flowers.
In 1982 I was given a Siberian crabapple sucker from Odiorne Point. During WWII the government took this coastal New Hampshire neighborhood by eminent domain. The fine houses were removed and the gardens simply abandoned. The shoreline has since become a nature center, but the rest of the area has run wild. During the 1970s and 1980s several people rediscovered the gardens and restored what they could. I was given a crabapple sucker by one of these guerrilla gardeners, brought it home, and planted it dead center in my best bed.
The crab thrived and, as its limbs spread, the area it shaded filled with small perennials that spread to fill the area: double bloodroot, a maidenhair fern dug from nearby woods, bluebells, and other congenial fellows rambled and spread. Other than an axis and cross-axis, there was little structure but loads of happy bumblebees and free love.
Primula particularly loved this situation. In an area near the base of the tree, natural crosses of Primula vulgaris, elatior, veris, and anomalous and old hybrids formed a colony. They were perky little flower elves: singles, doubles, and Jack-in-the-Greens in varying shades of yellow. Many went to the Tower Hill show, and some won prizes (see pg. 15).
For decades I collected bits from every primrose I came across, some of which grew to form large clumps and patches. A packet of seed from Barnhaven yielded twenty plants for the cost of one, most of which were not available as plants anyway. We had some lovely springs. For the rest of the year the garden was attractive but lacked the dazzle.
Maintenance was easy. A few hours now and then were enough to keep the balance and remove the weeds, and the shade made it comfortable to work in mid-summer heat. The tree was the heart of my garden.
Siberian crabs (below) sucker heavily and require a great deal of pruning. As mine grew, I trained the limbs to arch outward and create more shade. When the limbs grew strong enough, I hung my orchids on the branches for the summer. They loved swinging amongst the leaves and being hosed down regularly.
In 2022, I found out the hard way that Siberian crab trees lack resistance to fire blight. Airborne fire blight bacteria create lesions at the top of the tree and drip down on leaves and twigs under them. This was a classic case. After two years of fighting the inevitable, the tree was removed in August of 2023. I could barely watch, and when I finally went into the garden days later it was unrecognizable. Not from damage by the arborists or debris, but from the hole left by a forty-some-year-old tree that had filled much of the area above six feet with long leafy limbs. The sun was intense. The heat was worse.
Two hot summers followed with little useful rain. Field weeds overtook the space in rapid succession, and crab tree seedlings popped up everywhere. Trillium and Primula denticulata still blossomed along the raised south wall, bloodroot and bluebells made their appearances, and, surprisingly, the shy maidenhair fern became an obnoxious weed.
Late last fall, after a summer and fall spent hors de combat with a virulent case of shingles and my energy limited to keeping the potted plants and greenhouse watered, I asked my husband Andy to run the Gravelly over the garden. This wasn’t as drastic an action as it sounds, but it was the starting point for something new.
With the herbaceous and woody plants reduced to stubble, I fully expect my shy little primroses to reappear in April and May. They will be greeted warmly and moved to a shaded holding bed or marked and rescued in place. Large weeds and tree seedlings will be dug out by other hands than mine.
Gardens are all about change. While keeping the character of my old garden, my plan is to create a fresh new garden that doesn’t depend on one tree for survival, that takes climate change, as well as my diminishing energy, into account, and incorporates features I’ve longed for:
a small pool for a lotus, frogs and turtles with a splashing area for birds and insects, a Dolgo crab tree and persistent crab trees (resistant to blight) for the birds and eventual shade, a replacement for the rickety arbor that supports the honeysuckle (my hummingbird feeder), irrigation (or better hose access), benches and seats to encourage hanging with the amphibians, reptiles and birds,
. . . . and many, many primroses old and new.