Hyssop

Family:Lamiaceae, formerly Labiatae (Mint Family)
Genus: Hyssopus
Species: officinalis

Every year at about this time, when I’m on the umpteenth horsetail patrol of the season, my mind wanders dangerously into metaphorical musings. Just last week it occurred to me that gardeners have a lot in common with Hollywood casting directors. We all kowtow to a few horticultural superstars, treasuring them for their glamour and box-office appeal even as we find ourselves frustrated with their temperamental natures. We pamper them beyond all reason and are pitifully grateful when they deign to show up on time. All of our gardens also have botanical versions of those talented and mercurial actors who take on character roles. With their quirky looks and over-the-top performances, they can steal a scene or two but they just can’t carry the whole production. They might even become typecast—and a tad too predictable to hold our interest.

Again and again, we find ourselves relying on the members of the company who are willing to play supporting roles. These are the performers who always show up and go the distance, doing exactly what they’re supposed to do without any coddling from us. We might even forget to put their names in the credits, and they wouldn’t mind.

Which brings me to the humble hyssop. Native to Asia Minor and the Mediterranean, this perennial has had roles in culinary, medicinal, and ceremonial productions for many centuries. It’s been around so long and thought of as so common, in fact, that we tend to overlook its possibilities. Earlier this year I visited a local gardening shop to find out if they carried the seeds of Hyssopus officinalis. Yes, I was told, even as the proprietor asked: But what are you going to do with hyssop?

I almost responded, “Well, I’m going to plant it.” But I knew that’s not what the shopkeeper had in mind. No, the real question was, what possible role could hyssop play in a modern garden? It’s just a plain, if ancient, herb that no one uses much for cooking anymore. No matter. Hyssopus officinalis has great ornamental value, with its whorls of shiny, dark green foliage on woody stems that taper to stalks of clear blue flowers appearing from July to November. Varieties with white, pink, or purple blossoms are said to be available, although I haven’t encountered them. Hyssop is fragrant. It blooms in the first year when grown from seed, and even though it’s a member of the mint family, it stays nicely in its place. It’s evidently impervious to pests and diseases. Slugs don’t like it and neither do deer. It’s as carefree as lavender and about the same size, with similar cultural requirements: lots of sun, well-drained but not necessarily rich soil, and sparse watering once it has a toehold. Bees love it, and hyssop honey is much treasured for its distinctive flavor.

H. officinalis does very well as a free-form specimen in the garden, either single or massed. It also makes a wonderful little hedge. Use it in a knot garden or to demarcate one area of your garden from another. Space the plants about ten inches apart and way before its boxwood counterparts even settle in, hyssop is ready to be trimmed and shaped. Do that in late winter, rather severely, and you won’t need to sacrifice all of the flowers that will appear later in the summer. You’ll have a tidy little border that, granted, won’t last as long as one constructed of boxwood, but you won’t have to wait ten years for it to fill in, either. In fact, it’s a good thing H. officinalis grows quickly and flowers soon, because every three or four years you’ll need to start over. Again like lavender, it will become woody and less attractive. So spend a little time lifting out the old and sowing the new again from seed—one packet will do, and put the seeds in the ground about four weeks before the last frost—every fourth year or so. You’ll have an easy and inexpensive plant that looks great and always performs its assigned role well. And if you do tire of hyssop, remember that you’ve invested just a little less than the cost of a movie ticket—for an afternoon matinee. Hyssop won’t ever demand red carpets, limousines, or any other kind of star treatment.