The Year of the Montauk Daisy

This year, the Montauk daisies are spectacular. Blooming later than usual and still lush under an unprecedented flurry of blossoms, the last white daisy of the year has never looked so good. 

I admit I've never truly been sold on the Montauk daisy (also known as the Nippon daisy), although the plant has many positive attributes. It's easy to grow, can take on the footprint of a small shrub, and the flower is crisp-looking and stays that way for a long time.

The succulent leaves add to the Montauk's hardiness, although too much water is fatal. Propagation is as simple as placing a cutting in the soil.

The only problem, one I couldn't get past, is the Montauk daisy's tendency to develop yellow leaves just before the flowers open. A good rain or merely the weight of the flowers will cause flopping, making the plant look split-open. The leaves often fall off, leaving bare stems with a nosegay of flowers at the end.

This year, these negatives have been hidden underneath a profusion of white.

All season, I've been watching a group of Montauks on the edge of a street near mine. Each plant was perfectly sphere-shaped—the evidence, no doubt, of pruning earlier in the season. The foliage was deep green and the light played off the succulence. Buds formed and opened, still held in their spheres. 

It was probably three years ago that I drove past the then-empty bed and saw the auspicious beginning. Three small black pots of Montauks barely a foot tall with only a few flowers. I recognized the pots and the plants' appearance—I knew the grower. From this point on, whether I liked it or not, I was involved.

Montauks are fast growers, just as kids are, entering kindergarten and suddenly they're in third grade.

This transformation led me to seek out the grand-daddy of all Montauk displays. I took a drive in the rain, down Central Avenue. The house at the end of has likely sold more Montauks than Martha Stewart could have. 

I hadn't been here in quite awhile. The sedate grouping of daisies I remembered had become waves of white surrounding the house and spilling into a bed on the corner. Granted, I was a week or two late for a peak show, yet still I was speechless.

One thing I've learned—never be too quick to dismiss something, until it has its season.