Flowers are everywhere in my garden, and I want to let you in on something that might surprise you: They're easy to grow. Some of them I didn't even plant.
I'm standing next to a patch of wildflowers — African daisy, our native fleabane, Perry's penstemon, California poppy — a whole riot of color that showed up on its own. Some reseeded from elsewhere in the yard. Others came from a handful of wildflower seeds I scattered one fall and then mostly forgot about. A little water, a little patience, and nature did the rest.
That's the magic of annuals and wildflowers in the desert. Yes, most of them will die off when the heat arrives. But they'll have already released their seeds, and they'll be back next spring to greet me again. It's a relationship built on trust — you give them a start, and they keep coming back.
Wildflowers are wonderful, but if you want color that lasts more than one season, there's a whole world of longer-lived plants that are hitting their stride in Southern Nevada right now.
I have several species of aloe in bloom at the moment, and the hummingbirds are beside themselves. If you want to bring hummingbirds close to your house, aloes are your invitation. Most species need a fair amount of shade here — they'll burn up in full desert sun — but the flowers are worth the effort: tall stalks held aloft, with little tubular bells hanging down like ornaments.
Then there's one of my all-time favorites: chocolate flower. It gets its name honestly. In the morning, the blooms smell exactly like chocolate — rich, unmistakable. By midday, for whatever reason, the fragrance shuts off, even though the flowers stay open. It's a mystery I've never solved, and after all these years I've stopped trying. I just enjoy the morning show. Chocolate flower reseeds itself readily and will bloom for four, five, even six months. Cheery yellow petals with a chocolate-brown center — beautiful in form and scent.
Speaking of fragrance, let me tell you about my blood orange tree. She's been with me over 20 years now, about 10 feet tall, and she has a mind of her own. Last year she gave me exactly one orange. One. This year, she'll probably give me 150. I don't know why she takes every other year off, but I've learned not to argue.
Right now, thousands of blossoms are just starting to open, and the perfume is extraordinary. I planted her by the front door on purpose — I get that fragrance every time I walk in and out of the house. She's also near my office window, so when I'm working, I just crack it open and let the scent drift in. If you have a spot that gets enough water and some protection, a citrus tree will reward you in ways that go far beyond fruit.
Now, my blood orange needs regular irrigation. But just a few steps away, the garden shifts into a much drier zone — and the natives are thriving.
Creosote is the queen of this part of the yard. She needs pretty much no supplemental water, though I give her a drink maybe once a month in summer to keep her green year-round. Right now she's covered in small yellow flowers that will eventually become fuzzy white seed balls — charming in their own right. She has dark striations along her branches that give her real ornamental appeal. And if you grab a handful of the foliage and breathe in — that's it. That's the smell of rain in the desert. That's the smell of home.
This one's almost 10 to 12 feet tall, which is bigger than you'd typically see out on the open desert floor. A little extra water goes a long way with creosote.
Nearby, globe mallow is putting on its show. Our native species has orange flowers, but there are cultivated varieties in pink and rose, too. Spring brings masses of blossoms, and remember — these native species are doing critical work for our local pollinators and the creatures that depend on them.
A little further down, brittlebush has colonized a stretch of the garden entirely on its own. I never planted a single one. They migrated in from some empty lots near my house and made themselves comfortable, covering the ground with waves of yellow flowers. I consider them welcome guests.
That's what I love about spring in Southern Nevada. There's an abundance of life out there — cacti blooming, mesquite trees leafing out, herbaceous perennials muscling their way into any patch of open ground. And yes, a couple of weeds. That's part of gardening.
The real lesson of a desert flower garden is this: You don't have to force it. Plant some wildflower seeds in the fall. Give your aloes some shade. Let the creosote do what creosote does. The desert wants to bloom. Your job is mostly to get out of the way — and then stand there in the morning, smelling the chocolate flowers, listening to the hummingbirds, and wondering why you didn't do this sooner.
Las Vegas gardener Norm Schilling shares the easiest flowers to grow in the desert — from self-seeding wildflowers to fragrant citrus, aloes, and native blooms.
