Author: Holly Scoggins

Any PR is good PR…I think…

Virginia Tech (my institution of employment) does a good job of bringing newsworthy research and outreach stories to the university’s home page.  With a huge college of engineering, robotics seems to be the dominant theme (no matter how lame the robot is) closely followed by solar-powered cars etc.  So it’s a rare and thrilling event when a news items with a horticultural topic is featured on the VT web site!

As I read it yesterday, my heart sank a bit. A little less drama and a little more fact-checking would have gone a long way (the demise of which is a re-occurring gripe here on Garden Professors). I do seriously appreciate that something horticultural made the news,
and the efforts of the writers to make it interesting. I also realize a
great majority of the readers will not split hairs like I have.

If you’d like to read the brief and pleasant article, click on the link. My carping will make much more sense.

http://www.vtnews.vt.edu/articles/2011/10/101911-unirel-ialropenhouse.html

In a nutshell, a lab associated with Virginia Tech has developed a tissue culture protocol for the propagation of an Icelandic poppy cultivar at the behest of a cut flower grower.

Hurrah, right? Absolutely. But the article mucks it up a bit.

(On with the hairsplitting!!!)

1) Icelandic poppy (Papaver nudicale) is in no way endangered or about to go extinct. You can buy seed by the pound. The cut flower grower mentioned  (a fabulous grower and just as wonderful a person) has a favorite cultivar. ‘Temptress’  is a selected, named variety of P. nudicale – of which there are many (20? 30?).  Cultivars are lost all the time, but they do not "become endangered" or  "go extinct" – this terminology implies it is found in the wild. Which ‘Temptress’ is not, because it is a man-made selection.  If ‘Temptress’ is indeed a hybrid, the parents could possibly be crossed to hopefully the same end. Extinct…is forever. 

It may be rare, it may be difficult to propagate by the usual means of seed or cuttings, and micropropagation has apparently worked to sustain the variety. Micropropagation has been used to save many heirloom fruits and vegetables.  But back to our poppy.  True, it may not continue to exist if a viable method of propagation is not found, as the grower notes.  But the authors incorrectly interpreting the quote.  The world is not losing a species; rather, one cut flower grower is losing his favorite color of poppy.

2) Though fine scientists in their own right, the two faculty named in the article did not (nor did they claim to) "pioneer a technique known as micropropagation."

I think I just heard Dr. Toshio Murashige have a cow.

Micropropagation (a form of tissue culture) has been around since the 30’s and is now a HUGE industry around the world.  For example, nearly every orchid and fern sold at Home Depot is a product of micropropagation.  

Micropropagation involves many variations on and combinations of plant hormones, growth regulators, minerals, etc.  The researches mentioned (and their staff) formulated a successful protocol (recipe) for this particular species. It was indeed a challenge, and it’s great that they came up with the correct combination of the umpteen variables required to generate root and shoot growth. This is often called "cracking the code" and would have been the correct angle for the article authors to take.  Finally, microprop is NOT a “plant breeding method” as stated in the photo caption. And since the Icelandic poppy is not fragrant, there will be no "fragrant scent wafting." No. Wafting.

Though it sounds lovely.  Thanks for listening.

Sugar and Spice and Misnomers

At a lively hobnob with friends and colleagues, the discussion ranged from critique of the Virginia Tech offensive line to the logic/mystery behind commercial carbon offsets.  Someone mentioned Domino Sugar’s efforts in that direction. Apparently their product has been certified “carbon free” by a business carbon offsets program that they pay a fee to. This led to hoots and snorts as to their selection of terminology since it involves a molecule (sucrose) that is 27% carbon.


From the fascinating thus time-eating www.exploratorium.edu. Serously, don’t click the image unless you’ve got an hour to burn.

I’d forgotten all about it until I saw a post (on ESPN.com of all places) that also brought it up.  The product in question:

Now I can appreciate that the point of this branding/certification is not to advertise a dearth of carbon; rather their good intentions,  as it is Carbonfree, not carbon free.  But the marketing staff perhaps need to be reminded that in addition to the inorganic carbon gases that are of major concern, carbon is a part of all organic life…and essential to both sweet tea and the suffering of Biochem students everywhere.

Wicked Good!

At the tail end of August, we (the Hahn Horticulture Garden at Virginia Tech) hosted our second-ever all-day symposium.  I christened it the Down ‘n’ Dirty Garden Symposium series – no stuffiness allowed! All fun, all useful info.  This year we lured the fab Amy Stewart in as our anchor speaker. Quite the coup for our little town!  My friend from grad school, Paula Gross, of the UNC-Charlotte Botanic Garden and co-author of "Bizarre Botanicals" brought her roadshow of wacky plants and action video.  Karen Rexrode, northern Virginia gardener, photographer and artist, inspired us to explore the Dark Side of gardening.

I love it when a plan comes together…these ladies played off each other perfectly and the topics meshed nicely (though decidedly different than the usual garden symposium).  The best part for me was I just had to M.C., thus got to enjoy each and every talk. Amy hit the nail on the head when she e-mailed after with "That has to be the most entertaining lineup of speakers I’ve ever been a part of — I just want to go on the road with them now!"  Maybe they could use an agent…

Amy, Karen, and Paula relax, post-symposia,at the (botanical) garden of Elissa Steeves.

(photo: Nancy Jurek)
Amy’s "Wicked Plants" talk included a tour of her marvelously creepy garden!

(photo: Nancy Jurek)
Paula’s Bizarre Botanicals roadshow. Did you know the pollen of Lycopodium (clubmoss) is highly flammable (and was, at one time, useful as a condom lubricant?).  

(photo: Nancy Jurek)
Karen Rexrode presented a very different and completely awesome take on terrariums, dish gardens, and planters.

(photo: Nancy Jurek)
Karen explained how to remove the top of the doll head with a Dremel saw. Good pal and frequent GP commenter Paul Westervelt turned to me and whispered "don’t you love how she just says that…so normally, like everyone does it…" 

I’m still smiling. And totally inspired. This symposium is going to be really, really hard to top.

p.s. Pardon the missed post, was in Hawaii.  I’ll probably post about that experience a little later on, when I’ve fully recovered.  I can’t speak for Bert and the mai tais – except they were $14 each at the wildly-overpriced Hilton resort hosting the conference. Doubt he had many…</d

Weird and Wonderful Plant Wednesday: Threefer!

 

This is a tale of three plants in my garden that would make the cruelest of multiple choice answers. Heh. Hence the inclusion of all three in this post:

a. Manihot esculenta

b. Abelmoschus manihot

 

c. Abelmoschus esculentus

d. All of the above

e. Aaaargh.

Manihot esculenta is Cassava or Tapioca; worthy of an entire post on its own. But the choice ornamental version is M. esculenta ‘Variegata’ or variegated tapioca.  I first saw it (gawked and squealed, actually) at Allan Armitage’s fab trial garden at the University of Georgia. Full sun, hot as blue blazes – not the usual environment variegated plants thrive in.  But this South American native loves it. It’s worked its way north in the trade; now nearly every plant nerd garden has it.  Perfect in beds or containers, it makes a lovely, well-behaved clump in temperate zones – a big shrub in warmer areas.  Interestingly, Manihot is in the Euphorbiaceae family; the other two are Malvaceae (hibiscus family).  Hardy only to Zone 9, unfortunately.

Manihot at the UGA garden in 2004. Love those red stems!

In our home garden. A bit of a shady spot, hence the less-vivid coloration.

 


Abelmoschus manihot is variously known as sweet hibiscus, sunset hibiscus, etc. and remains rather obscure. It’s easy to grow from seed, plus reseeds gently where happy (like the gravel paths in our kitchen garden).  Not much to look at until late summer, then the big lemon-yellow flowers unfurl – usually one or two at a time on each plant. The seed pods march up the stem, resembling a smaller version of okra.  Gets tall – up to 6’ or so – but the sturdy stems don’t need staking. Collect seeds from the dried pods to start next year.


The foliage is edible – I’ve gnawed a leaf or two but was underwhelmed. Maybe in soup.

 

The flower of Abelmoschus manihot is very similar to but a bit larger than those of okra…

Marvelous pods in the fall at Chanticleer.


 

Finally, the most common –  Abelmoschus esculentus – Okra.  Hitting its stride right now in the home garden.  Extremely ornamental, especially the red-stemmed varieties.

Okra ‘Hill Country Red’ at the Atlanta Botanical Garden this summer. Gorgeous!



The important bits.


Okra is a very unique veg.  You may be cringing from some past okra mishap, but I urge you to try it 1) fresh and  2) prepared correctly. Yes, it’s a bit mucilaginous, but what makes it gooey also serves a wonderful thickener for gumbo, stews, and the like. Pickled okra makes an exceptional cocktail garnish for vodka martinis (add a splash of hot sauce for a  Cajuntini).  I love okra dearly but never buy it in the store – as it sits around, the pods become woody and tough.  Try it fresh from the farmer’s market or even better, the back yard.  Not trying add to the food-blog-saturation point, but please allow me to wander off-topic and share my favorite fried okra recipe. The deep-fried, breading-buried stuff normally sold as
fried okra is far, far inferior.

Holly’s Fried Okra
(Materials and Methods)

 

Pick a mess* of okra. Slice up your pods (no more than &frac14;” to 1/3″ sections.  If it’s difficult to slice, discard that pod – too old/tough) and toss into a bowl with a sploosh of buttermilk, just enough to moisten it. Add salt, pepper, and a dash of cayenne. Stir gently.  Get a big fry pan or wok (okra needs its space) and heat some veg or olive oil. Not a lot, just a few tablespoons. Don’t let oil get smokin’ hot, don’t want to burn it. Now throw a big handful of cornmeal into the bowl with the okra and stir gently again. Some will stick, some won’t. You should be able to see the okra, not just blobs of coating. Move okra to hot pan with a slotted spoon, giving it a shake over the bowl so you don’t get a lot of extra cornmeal in the pan. Just enough for one layer – don’t crowd the pan or it will be soggy. Toss gently over medium heat for about 5 to 8 minutes until some corners are very dark brown and crispy and everything else is either green or golden.  Remove to paper towel-covered plate; add a dusting of kosher salt, then start the next batch (replication).  Eat the first batch while standing there making the second batch. Helpers will magically appear. The first batch NEVER makes it to the table in our house.

Crispy, non-greasy, okra goodness!

*mess = “as much as you need for your meal”, be it for two or ten. This recipe uses about three cups of slices – though can’t say I’ve ever measured. Enough to feed two or three (two if they really like it). Adjust other ingredients accordingly.

 

You guessed it…

The glorious Allium ‘Globemaster.’

Michelle and Laura B. nailed it, and Jennie had the correct genus.

A little taxonomic correction – it is NOT A. giganteum, as many catalogs and articles suggest, but rather a hybrid between A. macleanii and A. christophii; described by the breeder himself – Jan Bijl – in a 1990 issue of The Plantsman (vol. 12 pp 152-156).  Unless I’ve totally messed up and this is ‘Gladiator,’ not ‘Globemaster.’ They’re quite similar.

Big blobs of floriffic fun, none the less. A bit pricey at $5 to $8 per bulb, though. I only have five in the ol’ home garden – that’s about as "en masse" as I can afford.

Wonderful Plant Wednesday

[So I’ve veered off the “weird” track into “wonderful” already.
Whoops.]

“Mint!” is tantamount to the cry of “Bear!” to many gardeners.  Mints tend to run amok, in just about any environment, and are difficult to remove once established. A pot or hanging basket is useful for containment, but not always successful.  It wants out.  The upside to mint in your garden is, of course, cocktails. Essential for the mint julep and the mojito.  Also useful in lots of dishes – I prefer my tzatziki with mint, thank you.

Culinary mint is Mentha, but the subject of this post is mountain mint: Pycnanthemum.  Same family (Lamiaceae), different genus. It’s a fabulous garden plant that I’ve been blathering about in various talks for a few years, yet the mention of “mint” seems to cause audience members to cringe, glare, or worse.  This is yet another example of a common name with negative associations scaring people off (like “Stinking Hellebore” – that’ll sell some plants).

There are 19 North American perennial species in the genus, with lots of naturally-occurring varieties within many of the species. Many look A LOT alike, complicating i.d. Most mountain mints are found from Quebec and Ontario down to Florida and west to the Mississippi; a few species make their way to the Great Plains, with one species in California.

 

 

Pycnanthemum muticum (short-toothed mountain mint) is probably the most widely available; usually propagated and grown by nurseries with a native plant emphasis such as North Creek Nurseries (Landenberg, PA) (wholesale propagator).  Hardy from USDA Zone 4 all the way down to 8, it does best in warmer climates in part shade, similar to the edge of meadows where it’s usually found.  In both our campus garden and our home garden (z 6a), it’s in full sun.  It doesn’t need tons of water – the one at home hasn’t seen rain nor sprinkler in 4 weeks and looks just fine.


Factoids out of the way, here’s why it’s wonderful:  the upper bracts are silvery, topping the bright green clump like frosting on a cupcake. It’s not small – 3’ tall where happy. The foliage is plenty “minty” – it would actually work in a mojito emergency. The clump gets bigger over time; great for digging up chunks for your friends.  In the center of the bracts, the flowering stem is compressed into this little disc, with a teeny flower arising at the perimeter  (hard to describe, the photo does it better).   But packed within the miniscule pinkish-white flower is a ton of nectar. Especially attractive to bees, wasps, and some Lepidops, the entire top of the plant is buzzing with action on a warm sunny day.  Nectar flow (essential for honey) is very limited this time of year, especially during drought.


Residents of our home hives are going for it in a big way – will be interested to see if there are any minty notes to the next batch of honey extracted.  So there you have it –  a truly wonderful plant…beautiful, tough, native, pollinator attractor, and minty fresh!


 

</d

What I did for my summer vacation

[Warning: pointless post/ramblings]

Actually it was a "staycation." We usually scoot to the Caribbean for a week.  I’d like to say this was better.* Though home from our regular jobs for a week, we worked like fiends.  Our primary target was the multitude of Autumn Olive (exotic invasive) and Sycamore (native yet ridiculously prolific) taking over a nice four-acre field.  We we don’t quite know what to do with this creek bottom, except to not let it grow up into a monoculture (biculture?) of 14′ tall Eleagnus and Sycamore.  Our local rental joint delivered a spankin’ new JCB backhoe/frontloader last Monday, and fun was had. I have a thing for heavy equipment, and don’t stink with a Bobcat. But this was bigger than I was expecting.

To familiarize myself with the backhoe, I started out with a planting hole for a 15-gallon tree.  Oh, what Linda would have given for a picture of resulting crevasse."Dig hole 1000 x the width and 6000x the depth of the rootball." Whoops. Could have planted a minivan.  Took a bit of time to fill it back up to the point the entire tree wasn’t below ground. But I got better.  After several days, I was ripping out invasive species with surgical (ha!) precision. Take that!  Very gratifying.


The JCB 3CX with "EcoDig." Advertised as 18% more fuel efficient, so I’m helping the earth while I tear s*** up.

Then Joel surprised me with a truckload of mulch (Squee! Nothing says "I love you" like 4.5 cubic yards of shredded bark).  With Bert’s recent post in mind, I proceeded to "check the mulch for the presence of a foul or pungent odor." My snort-inhalation was perhaps too close to the pile as the fine bits of mulch went up my nose like it was 1985.  I did detect some volatile compounds as my eyes watered and the sneezing commenced. It was still a bit warm, so was careful not to get it too close to the plants. Not that there was much "tender" tissue since it hasn’t rained here in eons.  Will report back if I’ve ruined the bed.


Truckload o’ love. And yes, our "Farm Use" plate is held on by duct tape.

*Nope. Wasn’t.
</d

Weird Plant Wednesday – II

Okay, so it’s actually Thursday morning. We’re doing a "staycation" this week and my farm work to-do list dwarfs my usual work week. Not exactly relaxing.  One of the daily duties is dragging the hose around trying to keep some favorite plants alive. We’re in a drought, though not near of the awful and epic proportions of some parts of the country.  When our Floriculture Forum was held at the Dallas Arboretum this spring, horticulturist Jimmy Turner welcomed us to "Gardening Hell."  Huh? Everything was lovely, verdant, and smothered in tulips.  But that was February. Bless all your gardening hearts out there (and everywhere else that is so damned dry).

I do get to drag the hose right past one of my favorite garden additions of the last few years. Bulbine frutescens is a South African native that thrives in dry, dry, dry.  USDA Zone 9 or thereabouts on the ol’ hardiness scale. We’ve planted it in our tiny scree garden, where several succulents get to spend the warm season stretching their roots before getting scooped back into a pot to overwinter in a chilly greenhouse.  (And pardon if Bulbine is as common as mud in your part of the world/continent, it’s just not that well known in the eastern part of the U.S.)


Bulbine frutescens ‘Hallmark’.  Looks a bit like my hair this morning.  Yes, it would benefit from some deadheading (the plant, that is).

Bulbine foliage looks a lot like the "grassy" species of aloe, and the juice from the leaves is supposed to have some of the same properties when applied to burns and scrapes. It has a fairly neat habit,  but within the mound of foliage forms lots of rhizomatous clumps. These are perfect for dividing and sharing (despite the genus name, no bulbs are involved).  It flowers non-stop, even throughout most of the winter in the 50 F greenhouse. Our plant is the orange cultivar ‘Hallmark’. The straight species has yellow flowers and can reseed a bit; but I’ve never seen a seedling.


Lovely flowers. No extra water needed – yay!

Weird Plant Wednesday!

Greetings, all!  Things seem to be pretty slow in the blog-reading world…middle of summer, vacations, etc. Plus we’re all out there gardening, unlike the dead of winter when we’re deprived of this joy, so the next best thing seems to be reading about it.  Thanks to all who check in with us, even if just occasionally!

I’m taking over the Wednesday slot for a little while – I have a backlog of cool/weird/new/unusual plants to share, and  Weird Plant Tuesday just doesn’t bring the alliteration.

Our first subject: Aristolochia gigantea – Brazilian Pipestem (or Brazilian Dutchman’s Pipe – bit of a culture-clash ). The genus Aristolochia is chock-full of unusual-looking flowers, but I think this one takes the cake.


This flower is actually upside-down, hanging off a trellis. The lobes are at the base of the flower.

The big, blorpy bud starts out vaguely rude-looking, then opens to a maroon and white-netted beefsteak of a flower.  I do like the National Tropical Botanic Garden’s description that “The back view of the flower superficially resembles a pair of lungs with a canal leading into a stomach-like pouch.”  The perianth/base of the flower is inflated, and the purported pollination strategy is to get flies to enter the “maw” and then hang out in the pouch (“Get in mah belleh, fly!”). Pollen is exchanged in the interim.  Scent is a big part of attracting flies, but I don’t find the fragrance offensive, it’s just a little sweet/off.


Aristolochia gigantea – an open flower from the side (left) and a bud. At Saul’s Nursery re-wholesale yard in Atlanta, Georgia

The vine itself is really vigorous; even with our cooler summer nights here in the Blue Ridge, mine is running amok along the deck railing. The older/larger the vine, the bigger the flowers – I’ve seen some conservatory specimens with two-foot-long flowers. This is, by the way, very tropical. It won’t overwinter in the landscape north of USDA Zone 9. Mine will enjoy a chilly winter in a barely-heated greenhouse; we’ll see how that works out.

How’s that for a start to Weird Plant Wednesday?