Surprise! These come with flowers, too

I’ve been taking Miguel, my 12-year-old Havanese, for 3,500-step walks around the neighborhood lately (and telling myself he’s the only one who can’t handle longer strolls). And now that the weather is cooling, I’m noticing that some of the plants we encounter along the way look nothing like their mid-summer selves.

Sure, most perennials are drying out and dying down, and trees and deciduous shrubs are changing colors and losing leaves here in suburban New York. But that’s not what I mean.

I’m talking about the flowering of plants that are typically valued mostly, if not solely, for their foliage.

Some plants save their flowers until late in the season

A stunning coleus, no doubt planted for its chartreuse-edged maroon leaves, is now punctuated by gangly 2½-foot-tall spikes of tiny purple blooms. They’re attention-grabbing, to be sure, but perhaps not in the best way. And they might not be what their owner signed up for, as the blooming stage of the plant is not what’s depicted in catalogs or on plant tags at the nursery.

Caladiums, planted for their large, colorful, often heart-shaped leaves, also bloom, their white or pink-tinged flowers seemingly a cross between a calla lily’s and a flamingo flower’s. This is not a coincidence, as all three belong to the Araceae family. The latter two are grown for their flowers, but many gardeners remove caladium blossoms to direct more of the plant’s energy into leaf and corm production.

Another caladium cousin, Alocasia, aka elephant ears, produces similar blooms, although they are smaller and don’t appear as reliably.

I’ve come across many gardeners who also remove hosta flower spikes, and that perplexes me because I love the splashes of purple or white that they bring to my own garden. In fact, I consider them the best part of the plants.

A lot of folks remove the tall, thick flower stalks of lamb’s ear (Stachys byzantina), too. I agree the plant’s namesake thick, velvety, silver leaves are the star of the show. But I also like its late-summer, pinkish-purple blossoms. There’s no accounting for taste, however, so do whatever makes you happy.

Rex begonias, grown in shady areas outdoors (and often indoors as houseplants), are prized for their textured foliage, which can be best described as groovy. Their red, pink, purple, maroon, silver, burgundy, green, swirled, spiraled or otherwise far-out patterned leaves are such show stoppers that their small, pink or white flower clusters are often considered party poopers.

Then there’s Liriope, or lilyturf. Also called monkey grass, the low-growing groundcover produces small flower spikes in late summer. Then, the purple or white flowers give way to nearly black berries in fall. (Warning: Liriope muscari is well-behaved; Liriope spicata, which I accidentally planted more than a decade ago, has running roots that will eventually overtake your garden.)

Other flowers assume their supporting roles early in the season

Some foliage plants surprise in spring rather than fall. Siberian bugloss (Brunnera), for instance, is beloved for its beautiful variegated, heart-shaped, green and silver or white foliage that brightens shady gardens throughout the growing season. But it also produces small, light blue flowers in spring.

Mature boxwoods bloom in spring, too, often surprising (and sometimes concerning) their owners with tiny, yellow-green flower clusters.

Although conspicuous, the flowers of Heuchera are somewhat beside the point. Also called coral bells, the plant’s foliage is regarded as its raison d’être, brightening dark garden corners with yellow, white, copper, coral, purple, red or pink, often ruffled leaves. Its flower spikes, which oddly often don’t coordinate with its foliage color, holds clusters of bell-shaped blossoms high above the leaf mound from late spring through summer. In my opinion, some are lovely, but others are ghastly.

It’s best to research a variety’s flower color before committing.

Damiano writes regularly about gardening for The Associated Press. She may be contacted at jessica@jessicadamiano.com.