Mojave Gardener

The near-white leaves on this plant make it a must for foliage lovers

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A lot of gardeners in hot, arid climates talk about bougainvillea (Bougainvillea spp.) this time of year. After a notably hot summer (Las Vegas hit a record 120F), bougainvillea is about the only thing still flourishing. But the bright crimson bracts on the cultivars I inherited from the yard’s previous gardeners are not why I keep this plant in my garden. I like it for the way it makes the Mojave brittlebush, Encelia farinosa, shine. While this native shrub bears daisy-like yellow flowers on long stems in spring, it is for the foliage—those pale blue, almost white, leaves, that I plant this remarkable and humble shrub.

The leaves remind me of Senecio or Artemisia ludoviciana. Mary Irish, the great southwest garden writer, described them as ghostly.

In tough, arid climates, like those we experience through much of the American southwest, it is form, the structure of our plants, including their persistent colors and the shape of their leaves and branches, not their flowers, that combine to make a great garden. Even bougainvillea (which grows much better in Phoenix or Palm Springs), is adored not for its flowers, which, while pretty, are inconspicuous, but for its colorful bracts—a modified leaf and not a flower at all. But once cold comes to the Mojave, bougainvillea stops producing bracts. On the coldest nights, the leaves crisp. What remains is a rather ugly but effective deterrent for intruders: a mess of twigs and twisting, tortured canes. Which is why every year I say I will tear the bougainvilleas out. 

Which I would, if it didn’t make the brittlebush look so good.

Unlike bougainvillea, Encelia farinosa looks good all year long. After it finishes its initial spring bloom, resist the urge to cut back the spent flower stalks. Soon, finches will descend on your garden to feast on the dry seeds. They will hang from the waving stems, which are held high above the foliage, like tiny trapezists, eating their fill. The seeds are thin and papery and the birds, despite their appetites, do not eat them all; brittlebush is one of those rare plants that self sows in the desert. I like this characteristic and prefer to garden with it, rather than against it. It is easy enough to pull or transplant seedlings to more desirable areas.

Brittlebush takes plenty of sun and needs no supplemental water. If you are growing it for foliage, the leaves will turn near white in summer. You may also give it an occasional drink, which I do, to maintain the suppleness of the leaves and the subtle, powder blue tones. In garden settings, the plant can become overgrown. The pale, brittle stems have an architecture that is almost spooky, a fitting match to their ghostly leaves and a reminder that fall (and another chance to remove the bougainvillea) is coming. But the plant can be cut back hard every few years. Resist the urge to do this frequently.

If you are beset by the need to hedge trim all of your plants, then consider growing brittlebush as part of a Mediterranean-style garden with rosemary and other chaparral plants that seem to handle some excessive clipping in the desert. In fact, I would like to see a local garden do this very thing, for it would make the dreary, over-pruned style so common in the desert look more at home. Try this: mounds of clipped rosemary (Saliva rosmarinus), brittlebush, and Texas sage (Leucophyllum frutescens), planted closer than you would prefer, with chaste tree (Vitex agnus-castus) left wild and unpruned, placed here and there, throughout the planting. You might add banana yucca (Yucca baccata) to break up the monotony of the mounds. This arrangement would satisfy the desert landscaper’s neurotic need to hedge everything, while still allowing for an artful, even tasteful, front yard.

Plant Facts