I'd grow this plant—and many of its kin too—just for its name alone: Farfugium japonicum. "Far-FOO-gee-um ja-PON-ick-um."


Then again, it has so many startling and hardworking qualities I'd grow it even if it were named Wonderbreadia ohsoblandia. "One-der-BREAD-ee-uh oh-so-BLAND-ee-uh." You would too.

And yes, even though it isn't that hardy North of New York, hence the pot in the picture.  Still, I think you'll still be tempted: Shade tolerant, deer-proof, and fairly evergreen, at least from Washington DC on South: Farfugium would be a fearless groundcover.  (Actually, in a pot it's also a fearless groundcover, defeating even the hateful and intrepid Creeping Woodsorrel, Oxalis corniculata.)



And farfugium's leathery leaves hold up much better over the long hot season than, say, those of hostas.  And did I mention:  Farfugium is deer-proof?  (It shares this with its much hardier cousins, the ligularias.)

I've shown the most widespread form, with gold spots all over the leaves.  (The Latin, aureomaculatum, very helpfully means just that: spotted with gold.)  Many other cultivars are even more exciting not just because they are less popular, but because they are, truly, even more eye-popping.  (And each worthy of a future post, I promise.)

But while there's only one hosta whose flowers are an unalloyed celebration—the (glorious) Easter-lily-flowered plantagineas—all the farfugiums bloom with style and gusto, as well as remarkable timing.



In late October, round heads of buds on leafless stems suddenly poke up through the leaves, long past the time when even asters and mums have become hesitant, and when simple yellow daisies would seem, at first, like confused refugees from your August garden.


Then again, clear yellow goes so naturally with the Fall yellow-orange-red palette of everything else in your garden.  Farfugium flowers pull these unusual perennials into your garden's mainstream, while their unique foliage ensures that they fit in without also fading into the background.



This spotted variety is always the best to start with, because it's also the easiest to carry through the Winter when, like me, you need to keep it in a pot.  Yes, you could bring it into the house, into as cool and sunny a window as you have.  But I let the plants sit outside late enough in the season that their foliage finally gets the idea to die back.  (This can take a while, with some weeks of increasingly implacable freezes; be patient but also vigilant.)  And then I hustle the pots into the basement, where they sit out the Winter dormant and oblivious.

Alternatively, they do fine in an unheated greenhouse.  Either way, it's always a blessing to have something tender that doesn't require scarce and expensive space in a heated greenhouse.

Far as I can tell, farfugiums are terribly well-behaved:  They don't self-seed, they don't spread by runners, and they don't need dividing to keep the clump vigorous but are happy to be split in early Spring if it's your whim.  And don't forget their seriously weed-suppressing prowess.  In all these fine qualities, they go toe-to-toe with hostas.

But then by November, when your hostas have long since gotten tired and then flattened by frost, farfugiums leap into bloom.



And the name! Farfugium: Can you shade garden really do without at least one?