African Daisy

Family: Compositae (Daisy family)
Genus: Osteospermum

The Daisy family—Compositae, sometimes called Asteraceae—is the largest in the plant kingdom, comprising more than 20,000 species. Along with some very desirable ornamentals, it includes the lowly dandelion. Surely it was this ubiquitous and unloved weed that writer William Sutherland had in mind when he wrote in 1871 that daisies and composites are “a horde of barbarians which no sane gardener would admit within the boundaries.” Or perhaps he was thinking of Chrysanthemum maximum, aka Chrysanthemum superbum, a composite known commonly as Shasta daisy. And common it is. Gardeners soon learn not to plant a Shasta daisy near a door leading into the house. I don’t know whether it depends on flies as pollinators, but it certainly attracts them with the unpleasant odor of its flowers. And once Shasta daisies are invited within the boundaries of our gardens, they are loathe to leave. The smallest bit left in the soil will erupt into a whole new colony before season’s end. That makes its attributes uncomfortably close to those of its weedy cousin.

But there are many composites that are not barbarians. They are instead valued and useful plants that stay where they’re put and don’t smell bad. “Staying where they’re put” and “not smelling bad” sound like minimal qualifications, don’t they? So let’s just say there are many, many composites that will bring nothing but good times to your garden.

Members of the genus Osteospermum are fine examples of continuously blooming perennials, some of which we grow here as annuals since they can’t tolerate our winters. Other osteos are hardy enough to survive happily through the cold times. Some are a bit rangy, it’s true; and others have growth habits described as “rampant.” But in our cool-summer climate, they are easily restrained. Just cut off any straggling shoots and you’re in business. One member of this genus, Osteospermum fruticosum, is grown along highways—and in their median strips—in California, where it is called simply the “freeway daisy.” Of course it seldom looks its best, growing as it does without any care. But it does survive and continues to bloom, which tells you something about the toughness of the Osteospermum genus in general.

I’m not sure why osteos are not more widely planted here. Perhaps it’s because the few that are regularly available tend to look a little “coarse,” like the freeway types. They aren’t prone to many problems—a couple of viruses and reportedly, verticillium wilt so avoid planting them near maples or other susceptible species—and they’re relatively easy to care for. They are quite adored in England, where many varieties are available and collectors and advocates abound. The Royal Horticultural Society has singled osteos out for several awards.

Of the ones typically available for purchase here, most are smallish mounds—less than 20 inches high—of dense foliage that bloom almost continuously from late spring to fall. Some osteo owners report flowers into November. The leaves are typically a nice gray-green, with paler and slightly fuzzy undersides. The flowers close at night, so don’t be alarmed about that, but during the day they want full sun, the kind of nice, rich garden soil we like to have in our annual and perennial beds anyway, and regular but not excessive amounts of water. They do prefer soil that is on the acid side of the pH scale, so be aware of this if you plan to put them next to a concrete sidewalk or driveway. Deadhead them regularly to extend their flowering, and just enjoy their true daisy-ness and bright colors.

The hardiest osteos tend to have flowers of white, purple, and pink and make strong color statements as ground covers or edging plants at the front of the border. Osteospermum barberiae compactum ‘Purple Mountain’ has a profusion of dark flowers over a very long season, and O. jucundum compactum is a very tidy plant with flowers that are an assertive pink with perky dark eyes. The Symphony series of Osteospermum hybrids are particularly nice in the spring. These are among the least hardy, so treat them as annuals. You’ll find ‘Lemon Symphony’ in particular very lovely, I think. The flower petals are a very dainty yellow, not at all brassy, and the centers are a remarkable deep purple. These and the other Symphony types—in colors of orange, cream, and white, all with that lovely purple shading in the middle—do beautifully in pots, window boxes, and hanging baskets. So even if you’re short on room, you can enjoy these pretty plants all season long.

The reference to “lemon” of course reminds me of our recently met friend, the Meyer lemon. I’m thinking of naming mine “Elvis”—I hadn’t realized that this nice little tree had such an avid following here in our region. Reports of sightings from Birch Bay to Seattle have poured in since the January article appeared. Faye Agner has one that she never allows outside, keeping it always in a southeastern window and marveling at its ability to show flowers and fruit at the same time. David Simonson rescued his from an end-of-season clearance table some years back. It lives outside in the summer and in a cool corner of the garage for the winter. I saw it in early March. It was healthy as could be, with perhaps 40 smallish lemons adorning its branches. David says he normally culls his crop, so he’ll have fewer but larger lemons, although he just didn’t get to it this year. Another friend in Seattle wrote to me about his Meyer, which stays outside all year—it’s that much warmer, just 80 miles south—except during prolonged freezes. He sheepishly admitted his suffers from general neglect, although he has new resolve to give it better care.

Imagine. Keeping up with the Meyer-lemon crowd in the maritime Pacific Northwest. Who knew?!

Happy spring, everyone—enjoy the sun.