Yes, I broke down and am tweeting on Twitter. You'll find me at @botanicalgarden (you're not the only one that couldn't believe it was still available this late in the game). It's an experiment at the moment--for real time, short reports and quips on our favorite topic and others. It's a lot easier to do 140 characters than it is to write a blog entry--much less to think about and ponder--much less pressure to come up with a "great idea." 

Follow me if you are interested in a slice of my life. It won't go into the gruesome details that some people love to spew into the electro-sphere, but might give you a better idea of where I'm coming from and who I am.

In the short time I've been tweeting, I've probably got more followers than readers of this blog--so let me know if you found me on Twitter from reading me here--and don't stop...

Thanks.

In one of the most fascinating reads I've had in a long time, Carl Zimmer talks about fireflies (they're already out you know...) in The New York Times (June 29, 2009). His article "Blink Twice if You Like Me" examines the current state of research on how and why these insects use flashes of light to attract their mates. Everyone with a backyard should check this one out!

It should come as a surprise to no one who's followed the weather in the northeast (rain, anyone? How about more rain, and more and more...) that leaf fungus are making an ugly appearance in the garden. It should be a great year for them. Even invasive mainstays like Tradescantia have been attacked and are looking horrible.

And there's nothing that can be done. The weather doesn't appear to be changing soon, and I hate the idea of spraying fungicides all over the place--it's doubtful they'd have any effect anyway. The implication is that certain things in the garden will look like, well...you know what.

What to do?

If you can stand the sight of spotted leafs and collapsing plants, doing nothing is an option. Ma Nature has been here before, and so have gardens. Plants may be lost--and will at least be set back significantly. In the event you can't stand the look of your garden, the other option (I've already ruled out the spray--I don't have the capability for flyovers...) is to clean things up. Cutting and removing affected plants will immediately improve the looks of any bed, BUT care must be taken with disposal AND your cutting tools. It's easy to spread these diseases and sloppy horticulture IS a vector.

To be on the safe side, don't compost diseased plants; bag them and remove them from the garden. Sterilize your cutting blades well (soak in rubbing alcohol for at least a half-minute or flame until the edge is red) before using them on ANY non-affected plant. Not doing so is akin to plunking a kid with swine flu in the middle of a kindergarten class of vivacious, healthy young children.

It's happened to us again. Here we were, bemoaning the lack of rain and setting up all the irrigation to compensate, only to have the heavens open in biblical fashion. We obviously have no pull where it really counts. Do what you can, manage the damage, and be here again next year.

Cent' anni! You'll need them...

Float your way back to BotanicalGardening.com...see you soon.

 

What a beauty!!! AND ain't it just the truth.....       Check this out:

The drooping of peony flower heads is a common phenomenon regarded by commentators as either romantic or a curse. It is generally attributed to: 1) rain gathering in the flower petals—a particular problem with cultivars bred for large double flowers; 2) wind; 3) over-feeding, especially with fertilizers high in nitrogen.

Typical solutions to the problem feature some sort of support or staking. Methods abound, but none are considered totally effective.

It is perhaps telling that the website of the American Peony Society contains not a single word on the subject of supporting or staking paeonia despite having pages on peony care and problems.

Peony producers in the Netherlands grow hectares of plants in open fields without support.

Klehm’s Song Sparrow Nursery, a major US peony grower, does not support its peonies, which are field grown in the open. They don’t recommend supporting the plants, but will sell peony supports if pressed by a customer.

Only one of the two major peony nurseries to address the drooping problem (most nursery websites, like the peony association, don’t mention supporting or staking in their peony care pages) suggests a remedy—and it strikes me as one that would be difficult to keep from looking unsitely. David Furman of Cricket Hill Nursery (a peony specialist) suggests the following:

“SUPPORTING PEONIES: To support large clumps of peonies, lay a flat piece of 2”chicken wire, cut to a size of about 2 ft. x 2 ft., carefully over the new red shoots in spring. This has to be done early in the season, as soon as the shoots emerge from the ground. Adjust chicken wire to allow one shoot to go into one cell of the wire. As the shoots grow taller, the chicken wire will lift up and be a part of the growing plant, settling under the foliage. Fold down the edges of the wire under foliage so it is not visible. This will support the stems, and keep the plant more upright.”

The other, Don Hollingsworth of Hollingsworth Peonies

does not support his plants and suggests that doing so does not prevent drooping:

“One additional comment—the heavier, full double flowers will collect and hold a substantial weight of water, overloading the stems. Even sturdy stems may fall or break from the weight. For the more viewed portions of the landscape, growing rain resistant sorts will reduce the grooming work. Mechanical support can be useful, but not entirely so. Net wire circles or metal frames hidden in the foliage work well when flower weight is close to the bush. Longer stems will often bend and may break. In such kinds, staking each stem may be the only way to keep the opened flower pleasingly presented above the bush. Many of us are unable or unwilling to devote that level of care.”

All agree that supporting plants is an aesthetic choice, and may, or may not, prove effective. That said there are several alternatives at widely varying price points (see attached information on each of the methods discussed below).

At the low end of the cost scale are two options from big-box retailers like Lowe’s and Home Depot, which offer plant supports (18” rings) and “grow through” supports for less than $4.00 each.

Growers tend to offer sturdier, and more pricy options. Klehm’s Song Sparrow, for instance, sells groups of six supports for $49.95 (bottom ring 14”, top ring 25”).

At the top end of the scale, and self-described as “the best peony support made”, is the offering from Lee Valley Tools. It is far sturdier and of better construction, adjustable, and is built to be applied “only when needed.” It is also $37.50 each. 

On the other hand, you could just enjoy the natural presentation of the flowers, the romance of the arched canes with their fulsome heads of papery petals--an attractive scene not lost on the legion of artists and photographers who have depicted peonies through the years.

Either way, stop back at BotanicalGardening.com when you're done and let us know how you've managed with yours.

Out front, near the end of the driveway, a titanic struggle is underway—really two struggles for one plot of real estate.

A VW Beetle-sized shrub(s) of multi-flora rose (yes, I know all about it...but read on) and an equally massive trumpet vine are grappling in a no-holds-barred, cage match—seemingly to the death. Mano-a-mano they go on; here the rose breaks through, sending arched canes soaring into the air, armed with vicious rows of thorns proliferating like a shark’s teeth. There the trumpet vine winds around the rose canes winning a battle and thrusting quickly unfolding leaves into the sunlight.

Both seed around and multiply in unseen ways underground, but all that is controlled by a riding mower that takes no prisoners. Wading into the mass with shears and loppers is not for the faint of heart. An arm thrust in can only be returned with no sleeve and no flesh…stripped to the bone by a plant piranha. Grasping vines and ripping, tearing thorns render clothing the thinnest of defenses and skin a delivery mechanism for blood…which will surely be lost. Like a Victorian foray into the heart of deepest, darkest Africa, it is an expedition from which one may never return.

And yet...some call the impenetrable tangle home—and fight for it like gangs for their urban turf. No thinking person would question a bird's choice of this living snare for a home. What predator would dare dive into the maze of vegetable barbed-wire after its meal. Surely there's an easier way.

All spring a Northern Mockingbird couple (Mimus polyglottos) has occupied the shrubs, male perching high, singing and surveying, whilst his mate busied herself quietly below, slipping stealthily in and out of the mess. I figured we had them for the season.

Then, just this morning, while verifying that a pair of tree swallows had indeed taken the (bluebird) nest box on the fence post, the mockers changed color. In place of the gray with black highlights and flashes of white, they'd become a rusty red. Positions in the shrubs remained the same, male up high, female below. Even the behaviors were the same. Right down to body shape the birds were similar (o.k., they ARE from the same family...), but these were Brown Thrashers (Toxostoma rufum). Though late to the scene, the thrashers successfully ousted the original inhabitants in what I assume to be a bloodless coup to take over as lord and lady of the House of Pain.

A place for everything and everything in its place.

The mockingbirds are still close by, moved but not over the experience—if withering gazes at the thrashers from nearby perches are any indication. The thrashers are working the garden's ground layer hard, diligently foraging for food unless flushed back to their safe haven by some, usually human, interruption of their task.

And the multiflora and trumpet vine continue their alien-like expansion, waving branches ever more upward and outward like tentacles in their quest for the sun's life-giving energy. They will never let go of each other, intertwined permanently like Siamese twins never to be moved from their spot—short of dynamiting them from the ground. As satisfying as that might be, bits and pieces of each would fall, like nuclear rain, starting new, mutant clumps across the land. 

This, at last, is their protection. In their individual vigor, they assist one another and insure each others survival like good symbionts. Attempts to eradicate them are often their best means of propagating and dispersing.

The mockingbirds, at least, wouldn't mind....

Land sakes! It's May 19 and thar's frost on the windshield...

...global-what?

At long last I am about to bloom Bulbophyllum
echinolabium under lights. Something of a geek's delight--the plant's
flower is fabulous and large, but its scent is a dead ringer for decaying
mouse--I've had it for some time without the pleasure of its particular fetor.

I first saw--and smelled--the plant in the collection of The New York
Botanical Garden. It has one of the largest flowers in the entire (and rather
populous, with over a thousand species) genus Bulbophyllum (from the Greek bulbos,
meaning “bulb” and phyllon meaning
“leaf”). It can reach nearly 16” long on inflorescence that approaches 28” in
length.

The huge flower is graceful in appearance with spreading sepals and petals
and a dark red labellum (the third petal) variously described as papillose or
carunculate…both meaning having small growths (the first meaning “nipple-like”
the second “lumpy”) and with a long tubular apex.

The species hails from Sulawesi and Borneo
where it grows in warm, moist environments. That’s your clue for growing the
plant: warm and moist, good but not scorching light, loose potting mix (bark,
perlite, charcoal, etc….). Pots or baskets suit it equally well as it does not
scramble as much as some of the other species rather it plods along in an
ever-expanding clump.

 

Even amid orchid growers, certainly amongst the geeks of the
plant world, this plant is a world apart. Someday I’ll catalogue some of the
other “unique” fragrances of the orchid world…. Can’t wait, right?

This is the rain that takes us from spring to summer. Slow,
steady, soaking, continous…the plants, flowers, shrubs, turf and trees drinking
deeply and without stopping, water coursing through roots and stems and into
leaves like the living sap that fills butterfly wings as they expand and dry
after emerging from their cocoons.

 

Before you know it, the green smudge we so exalted just a
few short weeks ago will be casting enough shade that the short spring season (they
call plants ephemeral…what about spring itself) will be gone. A full canopy of
leaves will cover all, straining for exposure to light, spreading like a
glider’s webbing to catch every last bit.

 

I don’t mind the explosion…I tolerate the explosion—the
collateral damage that is weeds. It’s time.

...that New York City still has wildflowers!

It's true--one of the world's largest, most developed cities still has many native wildflowers, trees, shrubs and grasses. And we're celebrating...

 NYC Wildflower Week is May 2-9 and is packed with activities for all age levels. All events are free and open to all. With weather as beautiful as we've been having, there are no excuses for failing to get out and enjoy the great oudoors.

A full calendar of events is available on-line.

See you there???

What a taxing situation...it's the pay me now, or pay me later ditty.

Just like the colonists who found taxation revolting (and so they did...), gardeners everywhere are beginning to discover situations that need their immediate attention...or else.

The garlic mustard is in bud. And like your taxes and the IRS, if you don't take care of garlic mustard in time, you're in BIG trouble.

The first thing to green up in spring, Alliaria petiolata doesn't waste a precious second, or lumen. Taking advantage of the first strong light of spring, it bolts into action, setting new leaves, and now, between the early bulbs and the first perennials, setting buds that will bloom in short order, pollinate, and spray seed around with amazing fecundity.

All of this means that immediate action is required. Most of us weed when it's convenient: someone is coming to look at the garden, you realize that there ARE desirable plants in there somewhere, or you can't see the veggies anymore. It's better if you include weed pulling in all your integrated pest management plans.

"Duh-uh!" you might say...but timing is important. It's critical that the pulling be done BEFORE the plant sets seed. Doing it in time helps to control populations, keeping them from exploding out of your control.

With garlic mustard it's even more important. Just let a couple of plants flower and then pull them. Put them on the side somewhere safe...i.e. seed can't land anywhere important. Then keep an eye on them. The reserves in the pulled plants are often enough to ensure that seed is produced and dispersed. It's as if the plant has cursed the garden from its grave.

Better yet, forget the experiment and take my word for it. Pull garlic mustard BEFORE IT FLOWERS. Do not compost it. Pull it when the ground is soft to get the entire root system. Any little bit of root left in the ground will bless you with a new plant in short order.

Garlic mustard is edible and makes a lovely pesto. But even I can't eat enough pesto to keep up with the unruly hoard that descends from the roadside every year to compete with the garden inhabitants for food and light.

Get them in time and you have a chance, too late and...like the IRS and late taxes...they'll be all over you...

Done with your plucking? Head back to BotanicalGardening.com...

All of us love plants in the home, but would rather not keep them in plastic pots. Terra cotta just looks so much better--and is certainly more in keeping with a display function. The problem is, clay is porous (ironically this is also its main advantage) and as soon as you transplant your little beauties, it begins the process of wicking moisture OUT of the potting medium, rapidly drying the rootball of the plant. This, logically, aggravates transplant shock and results in your plant drooping--which is not why you chose to display it.

The cure? Take your pot and soak it. Let your terra cotta soak in a bath of cool water before you pot. With its walls saturated, it will temporarily be unable to wick water from your plant. The pot's surface will have to dry before the process begins and this gives your plant valuable time early in its move to re-establish. Keeping the plants cool and shaded helps extend this grace period.Two dozen plants repotted for show a couple of days ago have shown NO transplant shock at all and are ready to take their place center stage on the dinner table.

Give your plants the best start possible by reducing stress. Soaking your pots first will give plants a chance to shine--and a beautiful indoor display will reduce your stress level too.

Good Lord! What now?

You may recall that I've written in this space before about marauding chipmunks performing laparoscopy on the lawn to get at crocus bulbs, leaving only surgically precise holes just large enough to remove the small bulbs. It was pretty much a clear cut, returning the lawn to a monoculture.

In several other areas, new plantings of crocus managed to get their heads above ground and bloom this spring. Wonderful. I've been enjoying the flowers, returning to them to watch the numbers increase on sunny days. And now this....

Once again the crocus are gone. It's different this time. The bulbs are snug (for the time being) in the ground but the flowers, oh the flowers.... They've exploded.

Where once there was a natural-looking, small, drift of crocus there is now a splattering of petals--like shreds of paper left by firecrackers after all the fun. The leaves remain, mute witnesses to the slaughter. What the hell?

There's never anyone around...no suspects upon which to foist the blame for this travesty. My early spring colors on the ground in tatters but there’s no enemy to rail against. There’s nothing worse than an undirected rant; little satisfaction in spewing expletives if there’s no furry ear to catch their fury.

I will continue planting crocus, in the perhaps futile hope that numbers will prevail (or that predator populations will catch up to the spike in rodent numbers…). It’s not exactly “plant a row for the hungry”, but the more I plant, the better my chances that some will remain, untouched, to start naturalizing.

Today I did one of the hardest things a horticulturist/gardener/plant lover can do--I went through a bench of orchids and threw out dozens of "living" plants. I can almost hear the gasps…. I used to be like you.

For years I was constitutionally incapable of tossing plants that weren't TOTALLY dead. "Where's there's green, there's hope," was my mantra. Legions of under-performers populated my benches like the walking wounded of the plant world because I just couldn't bear to part with them. I'm sure visitors wondered to themselves whether I really had the stuff it takes to be a professional in this field.

Orchids were a particular problem. They're expensive to begin with and failure is hard to admit. The whole point of them is flowers...and if they don't and you can't figure out why they're generally not being grown well and begin to decline.

It's nothing to be ashamed about. Even the best growers lose plants. The best growers lose MORE plants than the rest of us--because they grow more and try many different things. More importantly, they don't hang on to things that aren't paying the rent. Space is at a premium for every gardener, indoors and out, so hanging on to things that aren't thriving is a losing game.

A couple of years ago I took adavantage of an opportunity to buy a fair number of orchids at bargain prices from a grower going out of business (let THIS be a lesson....). The plants arrived in less-than-pristine condition--a bit weak, a bit infested with scale--nothing unexpected given the circumstances (grower going out of business = a fair bit of neglect before things are unloaded for good). But it was a great deal, right? I'm a grower with lots of orchid experience, right? I've done near miracles before....

So I cleaned them up, dedicated a bench to them (didn't want them mixing with the good stuff just yet) and commenced growing. I managed scattered flowers on the plants--hope springs eternal. They began to look better. This was going to pay off in spades!
Not so fast.

The scale never went away and began to weaken the already compromised plants. Repeated attempts to control it even went so far as chemicals (which I normally avoid). I couldn't get rid of it. The plants just never got to the point of thriving. Bench space was at a premium.

They're still alive. They have flowers now and then. I thought I'd just hang on another season.... I am the horticultural Sisyphus, rolling that boulder up the hill. I fight the good fight against the inexorable foe. But I'm a patient sort of guy....

Yeah, right.

Thank God they were a cheap buy. It made my decision this morning that much easier. I'm done. I don't want to scrape scale and spray, I don't want to repot a lousy plant. I don’t even want to water them anymore if they don’t respond. They didn't repay my time and attention and I've had it.

I think it was Beth Chatto, the English gardener who said, "Some plants just deserve to die." The more experienced you are, the truer that statement rings.

And so more than 2/3’s of the original batch are headed to the compost heap. Yes, I couldn’t be as ruthless as all that…I kept a few that held some promise. They’re on borrowed time…

So I've got this Buddleja, common as dirt--but it's nice and provides a bevy of butterflies at a crucial driveway curve where they are most appreciated on walks. I'm not even sure what the cultivar is (or if it is one...), but it's seeding around everywhere. For the most part I weed it out as inappropriate for the location, but the mother plant is about eight feet tall, stands up next to a stone pillar with a planting area around a lamp on top. Sure enough, I've got a half-dozen or so shrubs coming up in this spot, about eight feet up in the air even with the top of mom. 

I admit it...my first impulse was to yank them out. I've got the plant elsewhere, and the pillar planting space is usually given over to hanging plants that drape down over the rocks. But when you've got something doing well and doing it on its own, it's counter-intuitive to destroy it. Why look a gift-horse in the mouth? So I left them in.

They still need to earn their place, however. I can't just have a group of eight foot tall shrubs growing out of a pillar...think, think, think. Aha! The light-bulb moment! By god, if they're going to stay they're going to have to play--by MY rules. I will bend them to my will...and they will hang, they will weep, they will drape the stones with panicles of purple...

When I say, "bend them to my will..." what I really mean is PRUNE them to my will. Like other bullet-proof but common shrubs, I'll just prune away everything that's not growing in the direction I want it to go. 

I started last year. Although the plants quickly established their woody base, they want to grow UP. I can't have that in this spot and want them to grow horizontally and then DOWN. To achieve this, I whacked everything going vertically. If it went straight into the air, it was taken all the way back to its base. The plants began to grow in the only direction I'd allow them to go. In one season they reached the edge of the pillar and began their downward swoon. 

I just came in from an early spring haircut of these plants. By the end of last season, there was another entire crop of branches shooting skyward. They are now less than nubs. I anticipate that I will need to attend to this (just a 10 minute job) several times a year to get what I'm after. The plants seem to thrive under the pruning regime and take it without a quiver of setback. With luck and a good season, they may start blooming as intended by the end of summer. If so I'll have a stone pillar with a cascading blanket of Buddleja flowers. Might even be confused with Wisteria! (I can only imagine what I might do with those...).

Clip your way back to BotanicalGardening.com...