The answer to today’s puzzle will depend on YOU! I have no idea what this is. (I’m not a mycologist. And did you know that fungi are more closely related to animals than to plants?)
Anyway. I found this on our wood chip mulch today. We always get interesting fungal fruiting bodies on wood chips – one year we even got morels. But I’ve never seen this type before.
If you can’t tell, these are round and furry. They really remind me of a mold.
I was working on something entirely different, but thought better of it. I’d like to continue Bert’s (now Dr. Mister Smartypants) really intriguing discussion.
Because when I read it, I felt a pang of…guilt? Confusion?
I’d describe my usual perspective on the “native” topic as ultra-liberal, highly plant-introduction-centric. New plant? Gimme!!! (“Native” shall appear in this post surrounded by quotes throughout, as a safety measure.)
Commenter Wes perceptively noted “part of the gardening public is becoming so enamored with the concept
of natives that I think they are grasping at straws to to assuage their
belief in ecological principal. In my opinion, many want to have their
cake and eat it too.” As a card-carrying member of the gardening public, yes, I do like using “native” plants, there is some portion of “feel good” to it, and I adore it when a hot new cultivar is also a “native”. And many breeders, propagators, growers, and garden centers would like to assist me with this.
A good example: the “American Beauties Native Plants” program from a large propagation nursery in Pennsylvania. Some straight species, lots of cultivars, all with marketing materials to match (tags, pots, banners).
Has “Big Plant Introduction and Branding” (really, not that big or scary an entity) co-opted “native”? Discuss.
Finally, some advice, please: in our campus garden, we’ve nearly an acre of new plantings in a meadow style that consists of lots of cultivars and some interspecific hybrids; all of “native” plants (even the freakin’ buffalo grass is a cultivar). How in the heck should I refer to these plants, let alone the entire concept, in our educational/interpretive materials? Any and all suggestions will be considered.
A few brave souls dared to take on Friday’s puzzle. Here’s a more revealing photo; the "tongue" is actually the top of a pitcher plant:
Kudos to Hap for correctly identifying the genus (Sarracenia) of this carnivorous plant. This particular one is S. purpurea, which is distinctive in that it has dark red, open pitchers rather than hooded ones. You can easily see the downward slanting hairs in the throat of the pitchers. These hairs, as Diana pointed out, keep trapped insects from climbing back out of the pitcher.
This pitcher plant is part of my nifty bog garden that we put together this year. If any of them get big enough, I’ll have to try Hap’s unorthodox method of slug disposal.
Well, maybe it’s not a cat tongue (no way my cats would put up with this), but what is it? Name both the plant and the function of this tissue for full credit!
Answer and more photos on Monday – have a great weekend!
I’m a big Barbara Kingsolver fan. Just finished “Prodigal Summer” – her tall, lanky, introverted, 40-something forest ranger-heroine encounters handsome, mysterious, much younger guy in the woods; sparks fly, etc. Rowr! Ahem.
I really enjoyed “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle” when it came out a couple of years ago. It was the perfect dead-of-winter read as she captured flawlessly the itch to grow things, the scent of thawing soil, the joys of mud, the overwhelming greenness of spring, the mess of canning tomatoes. I was only slightly annoyed at the quiet pace and perfectness of her home life; as a normal working stiff I don’t have time to bake my own bread daily, or make fresh mozzarella every time we have pizza for dinner (darn this time-consuming, bill-paying job).
But I was totally mesmerized by the cover art – her daughter’s cupped hands filled with the most beautiful shelled beans in the world. The huge maroon and white Christmas Limas shined like leguminous jewels. Now THAT I can do.
So, Dr. Miss Smartypants here devoted an entire row to them this spring – about twenty feet with plants spaced on one-foot centers and a 20’ x 6’ span of netting for them to scramble up. The second 20’ row was planted with red and green yard-long beans (see my previous post about how fabulous they are). Both rows received the same amount of irrigation (a little), weeding (some), and zero additional fertilizer except the pre-plant amendment of chicken poop (of which we have a lot).
Summer wore on, life got busier. The yard-long beans just kept coming despite drought, stinkbugs and 3’ tall lambsquarters. I’d poke around wistfully in the Christmas Lima vines – there were a few green pods buried amongst copious foliage. I do know these kinds of beans do better in hotter, drier climates, but it’s been pretty much that kind of summer here.
The pods finally, FINALLY filled out a bit and turned dry and brown – ready to pick!! I filled most of a five-gallon bucket and sat down with a beer to shell them (OSHA requirement).
Behold, my bounty!
Total yield: one mess of beans. Two if used as soup components. Yes, they’re listed with Slow Food USA’s Ark of Taste. Yes, they are indeed beautiful and will probably be totally delicious whenever I get the nerve up to cook them.
It’s just… I’m not sure how to put this… but a family of four would BLOODY WELL STARVE if they devoted much of their garden to these lovelies. I don’t know whether to eat them, frame them, or string them onto a necklace.
p.s. still getting yard-longs by the handful…
Now I feel a little guilty. You tried to answer Friday’s puzzle so seriously, and I was taking liberties with photography:
I think this is the coolest garden stairway I’ve seen yet. The buffalgrass tolerates moderate foot traffic, and it lends a fluid look to the otherwise hard edges of the steps. And you can’t tell from looking, but it both felt and sounded silky. Best of all, it doesn’t require mowing. (This is the Rolston/Cohn garden, part of the garden tour put on by the GWA in Dallas last week.)
During my trip to Dallas last week, I saw several low-water lawns, including this one using buffalograss (Bouteloua dactyloides):
The question is – why does have this wave structure?
Another revealing picture and answer on Monday!
So we last left off discussing the issue regarding the fact that the point is incumbent on us that one can’t refer to a native as "invasive" withou…
Look!
What’s that??!
There! Amongst the Pachysandra!
Is it a freshman? Perhaps passed out in our campus garden in despair after yet another stinging defeat of the Hokies?
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Nay, ’tis a pair of Calvatia gigantia – Giant Puffballs.
Pretty impressive, though. Note toes for scale. Unfortunately, with all the foot traffic in our garden, there’s little chance they will make it intact to the "fun stage" (official mycological term for when the exterior turns dark ‘n crispy and the internal spores floof out in huge clouds upon poking).
I fully expect our Pacific Northwest people to be all "You should see the size of OUR Calvatia species!"
Bring it.
I’m in Dallas for the next 4 days attending the GWA (Garden Writers Association) annual conference. (I get to give a talk on Horticultural CSI on Sunday!) Tonight we had a slew of vendors to explore, and among the offerings I found this plant:
So today’s question – what is this plant? And what makes it so unusual? The first question might be easy – the second one, not so much.
Answer and more info on Monday!
Loyal reader and thoughtful commenter Ray Eckhart posted a while back (something along the lines of) wouldn’t it be nice if we could come to some agreement on all this “what’s invasive” terminology. This has been flitting in and out of my brain but has not found sufficient gray matter to come to rest. Regardless, here goes. I’ve attempted to capture these concepts in as few words as possible. My opinions in no way reflect those of the Garden Professors, blog host Washington State University, or anyone else important, for that matter.
Native. From these here parts.
Or this half/region/corner of the Continent, depending on your definition. And there are LOTS of them. We had this discussion in my Herbaceous Landscape Plants class last week. My students alone came up with 10 different definitions and/or criteria, all probably legit. I teach a plant as native if it is found east of the Mississippi (these are garden plants, it’s not a botany class). I try to describe its “nativeness” more in terms of whatever biome it came from (tall grass prairie, deciduous piedmont forest, etc.) as cue to how to best use it in the landscape. If it’s found even closer to home, I find myself describing it as “really native” which makes no sense, but I can’t seem to stop.
Alien. Not from here (wherever here is).
Is a broader term than “native” because “here” seems to refer to land masses, whether continental or island. Alien has a rather negative and even inter-planetary vibe to it. “Must…thinkofway… to… eliminate… Japanese Privet. Helpme…, Spock.”
Non-native. The kinder, gentler alien.
As in, Hosta are not going to take over the planet. Even though non-native is often used in the same breath as alien, we need it to stand on its own in this case: what do you call a Calochortus (Mariposa Lily) in Virginia? It’s not native to the east coast, but species of the genus are native to the western part of continental North America and further south. So I deem it non-native, but not alien. Maybe “mail-order” should be a category.
Exotic. An attractive but promiscuous alien.
Invasive. Aliens amuck.
Lists are created, but are unfortunately often ignored (see previous post on ligustrum). There are lots of good invasive plant definitions out there. But can native plants ever be invasive? Or are they just “vigorous” or “aggressive”? See below.
Vigorous. This has positive connotations. Holds its own in difficult situations, makes lots more of itself, can share with friends.
Aggressive. See vigorous, but cue theme to Jaws. Makes a WHOLE LOT more of itself. Can share with unsuspecting friends.
Passive-aggressive. Just when you think “I don’t know what all the fuss was about”, BAM you’re pulling out it of every nook and cranny. I can think of many examples – good fodder for a future post.
Based on these definitions, I see a few of our favorite garden natives as aggressive or passive-aggressive. You’re not sure whether to be pleased or perturbed that a delightful, wildlife-friendly native is reseeding all over your garden. Two examples right here in our campus garden: Joe Pye (Eupatorium purpureum) and Cup Plant (Silphium perfoliatum). Completely out of hand.
I am no authority on this stuff, just happy to be part of the conversation. Feel free to agree/disagree. But please be gentle; I’m suffering from a late night of watching the Hokies get splatted by Boise State (invasive Broncos).