MY 15 MINUTES IN 2008

PITTSBURGH POST-GAZETTE 2008 GREAT GARDENS CONTEST WINNER, SMALL GARDEN CATEGORY
It's not that Dick Marshall is contrary. He just likes a challenge:
"As soon as people say, 'That doesn't grow here,' I do it," the Crafton gardener says, smiling.
As a result, pink, white, lavender and red crepe myrtle bloom in the long serpentine beds that slither down a hillside next to his brick Victorian. Some are newer cultivars of this Southern favorite that are hardy to Zone 6, the USDA climate zone that includes parts of southwestern Pennsylvania. But most are older, more tender plants he picked up at Home Depot and other big-box stores on trips down south. Sure, most die back to the ground every year. But they and the tougher white-flowered crepe myrtle push out their signature papery blooms every summer here.
Successes like this and the care Mr. Marshall takes to cultivate his garden of both unique and familiar plants earned him first place in the small garden category (under 1/4 acre) of the 2008 Great Gardens Contest. The competition, now in its sixth year, is sponsored by the Post-Gazette and Botanic Garden of Western Pennsylvania. In addition to a feature story in the paper, winners in the three size categories receive a Brenckle's Farm & Greenhouse gift certificate, a one-year membership in the Botanic Garden and tickets to its 2009 Open Gardens Day tour.
Mr. Marshall, a finalist in the 2004 contest, has been gardening around his restored 1899 mansion practically since he moved in 30 years ago. Ten years ago, he bought the adjacent carriage house and property that came with it. That purchase gave him the space to really indulge his taste for tropical and tender shrubs, which thrive here until sometime in October, when the most tender are dug up, potted and packed away in his basement or other parts of his 3,000-square-foot house.
It's a chore that gets more difficult each year, says the Green Tree native. But the payoff is seeing a mature specimen of the orange bird of paradise (Strelitzia reginae) flower in December in his formal dining room. Right now, its huge fleshy green leaves look perfectly at home next to a philodendron (a house plant) and other tropicals at the top of the hill, closest to the house. But in winter, if you're lucky, a shoot extends, bent like a bird's slender neck, and gives rise to 6-inch-long flowers. Each "head" has orange plumelike sepals on top and purplish-blue petals that look like a tongue.
"With the Internet, it's pretty easy to find one now. But 10 years ago, I had people scouring everywhere," Mr. Marshall said. "A friend brought it back on a plane from California."
Gardenia, with shiny green leaves and a few white flowers, thrives in pots on the back steps.
"It's the hardest thing I grow," the gardener said.
Mr. Marshall's garden has little formal design beyond its serpentine grassy path, flanked on each side by beds filled with small trees, shrubs and perennials. The plants are so tall and bushy that it's hard to see beyond the bend.
"I like that people don't know what's around the next turn," he said.
In this meandering plot, climbers like night-blooming jasmine and white sweet pea took turns scenting the air as the summer sun set and rose. But the flowers have disappeared from the sweet pea and 'Flying Saucer' morning glory that covers an arch. Nearby, an old wooden arbor is collapsing under the green weight of purple Chinese wisteria.
Walking further down the twisting path reveals lilacs, peonies, beautybush, oleander, angel's trumpet and a curly willow tree that started as part of a funeral bouquet for Mr. Marshall's father, who died eight years ago. Near the carriage house at the end of the path are English and other shrub roses, anemone and "those big old-fashioned marigolds."
Soaker hoses half-buried in the raised beds help keep everything watered. For divine inspiration, there are statues of angels and saints, a bit of overflow from the chapel Mr. Marshall built onto his house five years ago. The chapel, featured in the Post-Gazette in July 2005, is filled with holy water receptacles, stained-glass windows and other religious pieces the organist and longtime choir member has collected.
A statue of St. Jude now watches over the withering sweet pea vine. Known as the patron saint of lost causes, he is called by another name here:
"He's the patron saint of the impossible," Mr. Marshall says.
In this garden of the improbable, anything seems possible.