Jane Milliman: Acanthus is a lofty addition to gardens

Q: I'd like to plant some acanthus in my garden. What can you tell me about it?

— M.V., Henrietta

A: Many Acanthus species carry the common name of "bear's breech." One explanation is that the flowers resemble the spinal column of a large animal — a bear, perhaps, why not? — and another is that it has something to do with a bear's claw. They are quite tall and impressive, and the individual "vertebrae" are white, usually with a purple hood (sometimes pink, in more exotic, tender varieties).

Acanthus are often described as "architectural" and grouped with the sturdy mainstays that make up the backbone, aptly, of a perennial border: peonies, gas plant, hydrangeas, shrub roses, and so on. They're architectural in another way too — the acanthus leaf has been a popular decorative motif since it first appeared gracing the tops of ancient Greek columns.

The hardiest bear's breech is A. spinosus, so named for its numerous little barbs, which can be pretty painful to grab — sort of thistle-like. Don't let that dissuade you from growing it though, especially if your garden has a problem with deer. The foliage is wonderfully glossy and dark, it does well in sun to part shade, and it isn't plagued by pests or disease here in upstate New York.

The plants reach about three feet high, not including the flowers, which might get up to four feet under optimal conditions. They produce taproots and tend to form very sturdy clumps. In fact, it's a good idea to plant them where you are sure you want them, because once established they tend to become permanent residents. You can dig up chunks and move them around easily, and usually the plant will even help you with that by sending out runners. In my garden, babies have been showing up so far-flung from the mother plant that I suspect they may also produce readily by seed.

Only slightly less hardy, but maybe even prettier than A. spinosus is A. mollis. The flowers are very similar, but the leaves are less pointy and more evocative of classic themes. It, too, reproduces itself fairly readily.

A few years ago I fell in love with an acanthus called "Tazmanian Angel," with bright pink and white flowers and leaves that were striped with cream. I tried it once, twice, maybe even three times, but sadly, it just wasn't hardy for me. It's since been usurped by "Whitewater," which according to its breeder is more vigorous. Worth a shot if you come across it somewhere.