Ray Rogers, pictured below, is the author of the new book "Coleus: Rainbow Foliage for Containers and Gardens" and the subject of a story I've written to appear in the paper on April 11. I heard him speak at the Flower Show this year and was so inspired, I invited myself to visit him at Atlock Flower Farm way up in Somerset County. That's where he grows row upon row of these weird little lovelies, known for changing color, leaf shape and pattern by the light, season and generation.
Have you ever heard of such a plant? Many other plants fight long-held associations with their earlier, less interesting versions. Hostas, geraniums, hydrangeas, lilacs, irises, roses ... come to mind, along with legions of others. Years of breeding and hybridizing have produced exciting, surprising new versions of just about every flower we've known.
So it is with coleus, which always used to be synonymous with pink, green, cream. I was amazed at the variety and beauty - the colors alone! - of the coleus in Ray's hoop houses. And this is a plant with a sense of humor. The names are riotous: 'Mr. Wonderful,' 'Religious Radish' and 'Heart of Darkness' don't even begin to tell this story. The colors are magnificent. I know garden commentary is full of hyperbole, but you'd have to see these plants before you condemn the superlatives. They're justified.
In this photo, Ray looks as if he's dreading even one more minute of showing me around. In fact, he was unfailingly enthusiastic during my entire three-hour visit.
He grew up in Scott Township, outside Pittsburgh, worked hard to lose the accent though occasionally his 'o's' give him away. He claims it was "the edge of the frontier," full of farmland and forests that, of course, are gone now. Interesting to me that so many horticulturists I interview grew up in similar circumstances, with open spaces to play in and explore. I'm convinced that this is where it starts. (A sobering thought when you think of how many kids today don't have the room or the inclination to truly play outside.)
He's always been interested in flowers. "I just can't explain why," he says. "I held a trowel before I could walk." He remembers his mother giving him his first coleus at about age 4, probably 'Rainbow,' one of the oldies. And he insists that he settled on horticulture as a career about three years later. Must be nice!
Ray is a Penn State grad, a former intern at Longwood - "10 weeks in Paradise," he calls his time there - and a curatorial intern at Morris Arboretum. He worked for three years at Morris, where he clarified his calling. He would be a "plant missionary."
He's spreading the word about coleus, which he insists is the same singular and plural, so please no coleuses! and he shared the latest term for coleus obsession: coleust. That's cole-ee-ust. As in lusting for coleus.
I think I have it.
