Eileen has been after me for years to put more color out by the front porch, so I finally sat down with a notepad over coffee and worked out which flowering bushes have actually earned their keep around the farmhouse. Some of these I've grown for thirty years. A couple I tried and gave up on. The list below is what I'd plant again if I were starting from scratch on a Nebraska lot, with a few honest notes about which ones don't really belong this far north no matter what the catalogs tell you.
One thing worth saying up front: the USDA redrew the hardiness map back in 2023, and a fair piece of southern Nebraska bumped from 5b up to 6a. Doesn't mean winter quit. Just means the thirty-year average lowest temperature crept up about five degrees. Plant accordingly, and don't take any zone rating as gospel until you've watched a bush sit through three winters.
10. Viburnum
Viburnum is the kind of shrub I wish I'd planted twenty years sooner. White flower clusters in spring, decent berries for the birds, and the leaves go a respectable orange-red in the fall. There are dozens of varieties. Arrowwood and nannyberry are native and tough; the Korean spice viburnum smells like a spice cabinet when it blooms. Give it an inch of water a week the first couple summers, then mostly leave it alone.
9. Forsythia
Forsythia is the first thing in the yard to wake up. Yellow bells running up bare stems before anything else has leaves. It's not a fussy plant. Stick it in full sun, prune the oldest stems clear to the ground every few years after it blooms, and it'll keep going. The one trick: don't shear it into a meatball. Forsythia wants to arch. Let it.
8. Hibiscus (the hardy kind)
The tropical hibiscus you see in pots at the garden center won't survive a Nebraska winter. Don't waste your money. What you want is the hardy hibiscus, sometimes sold as Rose of Sharon (Hibiscus syriacus) or as the dinner-plate-flower types like Hibiscus moscheutos. Those bloom late summer when most everything else has petered out, which is when you appreciate them most. Full sun. Cut them back hard in early spring.
7. Daphne
I'll be honest. I tried daphne. Twice. It's a beautiful little shrub, and the smell is something else, but the variety I bought sulked through one summer and was dead by April. They're picky about drainage and don't love our heavy clay. If you've got a sheltered spot with sandy loam and you're patient, you might do better than I did. Otherwise, look at Korean spice viburnum for the fragrance and save yourself the heartache.
6. Lilac
Lilacs are the bush my grandmother planted along the driveway in the 1940s. Some of those same plants are still throwing flowers every May. You can't kill the things. The old-fashioned common lilac (Syringa vulgaris) will hit twelve feet easy, and Miss Kim is a smaller one that blooms a little later and handles wind. They want full sun, alkaline soil (we've got plenty of that out here), and a hard pruning right after the blooms drop. Don't prune in the fall or you'll cut off next year's flowers.
5. Camellia (skip it, mostly)
Camellias are gorgeous. They're also a Southern shrub. They want zone 7 or warmer and the kind of mild, damp winters we don't have. If you live in Lincoln or Omaha and you've got a protected courtyard against a south-facing brick wall, you might pull off one of the cold-hardy hybrids like 'April Rose'. For most of us in the Midwest, this one stays at the garden center. Plant a winterberry holly instead if you want winter color.
4. Buckeye
The bottlebrush buckeye (Aesculus parviflora) is one of those native shrubs more people ought to know about. White flower spikes in early summer, big palm-shaped leaves, and a habit of suckering into a wide colony if you let it. Good in part shade, which is where a lot of yards have a gap. Ohio gets the team mascot, but the plant grows fine across the middle of the country.
3. Hydrangea
Hydrangeas are having a moment. The panicle types — Limelight, Quick Fire, the new Limelight Prime — are the ones that actually thrive up here. They bloom on new wood, so a hard winter doesn't cost you the show. The big-leaf mophead types like Endless Summer can work in a sheltered spot, but they bloom on old wood and a late freeze in April will sometimes cost you the whole year. If you only plant one hydrangea in Nebraska, make it a panicle.
2. Azalea
Azaleas are first cousins to rhododendrons and have the same general problem in our soil — they want it acidic, and most Nebraska dirt is on the alkaline side. The Northern Lights series out of the University of Minnesota was bred for cold hardiness and works better than the Southern types. Even then, plan on amending the planting hole with peat and pine fines, mulch deep, and don't plant them in a windy west-facing spot.
1. Rhododendron
Same story as azaleas, only more so. Rhododendrons are the queen of the spring garden in places like Oregon and the Carolinas. In Nebraska they're a project. If you're set on having one, look at the PJM hybrids — they're the most cold-tolerant — and give them morning sun, afternoon shade, and acidic soil they didn't grow up in. I've seen handsome rhododendrons in Lincoln. I've also seen a lot of dead ones. Go in with your eyes open.
A few I'd add to the list
Since the original ten leans heavy on plants that struggle in cold country, here are three I'd plant before any rhododendron:
- Ninebark. Native, tough, white flowers in early summer, peeling bark for winter interest. The bees love it.
- Black chokeberry (Aronia melanocarpa). White flowers in May, black berries for the birds, scarlet leaves in October. Hard to kill.
- Spirea. Old-fashioned bridal wreath spirea is the white one. The pink and red Anthony Waterer types bloom most of the summer if you deadhead.
Practical advice from somebody who's killed his share of plants
Three things matter more than what you plant:
- Plant in spring or early fall. Don't put a flowering shrub in the ground in July. Roots can't keep up with the heat.
- Water deep, not often. One good soak a week beats a daily sprinkle. Mulch three inches deep, but keep it off the trunk.
- Wait three years before you judge it. The old saying is sleep, creep, leap. The first year a shrub sleeps, the second it creeps, the third it leaps. Folks rip out perfectly good plants in year two because they're impatient.
If you're standing in front of a wall of options at the nursery and your back is starting to ache, do what I do: ask the person watering the plants — not the one at the register — what's been moving and what does well in the county. They'll usually steer you right. Eileen says I never take advice from anybody, but I take it from them.
