This week I received some photos of some mysterious white tubes emerging from a pile of lawn moss. Do you know what they are?
Answer Monday!
This week I received some photos of some mysterious white tubes emerging from a pile of lawn moss. Do you know what they are?
Answer Monday!
Friday’s “evil frog eye” was actually part of a voodoo lily (Dracunculus vulgaris), found growing in a drainage ditch in California (I’ve seen one in a drainage ditch in Seattle as well):
Obviously this introduced garden ornamental has escaped cultivation and is now “going rogue.” Will it become a nuisance weed? Will it displace native species? Should it be banned from sale by nurseries?
Sigh.
Or possibly something else?
Answer Monday!
Sorry about the long wait in discussing the weekend’s post! (Technical troubles with access here in BlogVille.) In any case, many of you zeroed in on the defunct lime kiln as a possible pH adjuster. It would have been really interesting during those years to see how materials were processed – for instance, was there a lot of lime dust that settled over the area? Where did the limestone come from – was it carted in by train or was it local? Were chlorosis problems visible then?
In any case, my educated guess is that a lot of limestone chunks brought to the area for processing were left scattered around the site and were eventually buried over time. Plants recolonized the area, but where these chunks of limestone are sited we have pockets of chlorosis. The only way to tell for sure would be to test the soil pH, and I did not have pH strips in my backpack.
Today my family took our annual 4th of July weekend hike. We ended up on a fairly new trail through the Robe Canyon Historic Park. It was a gorgeous day and we saw all manner of plants and animals. The highlight of this trail is an old lime kiln; bricks and other remnants of early settlers are scattered around the area. The kiln closed in the 1930’s. (The hot link embedded in the park name leads to a 2004 article about the trail and the history of the site.)
A couple of weeks ago I had the opportunity to talk with a professor in the agronomy department who’s going to be retiring very soon. We talked about education and field trials, corn and trees, and then we started talking about the future of our departments. Both of us are concerned that this generation of horticulturists (and agronomists—but I’m just going to deal with horticulture here) will be the last.
Over the last 10 or so years we have been losing horticulture departments. Because of smaller budgets colleges and universities have combined hort departments with other departments to save money. But I don’t see this as a major problem, after all, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet (OK – truth is I don’t know many sweet smelling horticulturists). Horticulturists can be in departments besides horticulture and still do their job…But what is the job of a horticulturist at a university?
There will be all kinds of opinions on the “real” job of a horticulturist, but I believe that a big part of being a horticulturist is being a generalist – knowing a little about a lot of different things – insects, plant disease, soil. We’re a little like a general practitioner who can take care of basic stuff and then refer the client to a specialist if needed. Though most of us work with a particular type of crop (historically horticulture was split into 4 large groups – floriculture, fruit, vegetables, and landscape horticulture), horticulturists generally know enough about other crops so as not to make too much of a fool of themselves if they talk in general terms. We know how plants work, and we know how the environments around them work to help them grow. We are, in many ways, applied ecologists who are concerned about landscapes and the production of what many consider “minor” crops (at least compared to corn and soybeans!).
The biggest problem, as I see it, is that we are not hiring, or training, the number of horticulturists we once did. In colleges and universities a premium is placed upon hiring faculty members who can acquire big dollars through federal grants. The government likes “sexy” research which, right now, includes things like genetic engineering and biochemistry. The government is open to having this work done on crops like apples and onions, or even nursery stock. The problem is that generalists don’t tend to have the specialized knowledge in genetic engineering or biochemistry to do the work. Hence, a biochemist or molecular biologist is hired and, hopefully, gets the grants the university needs. But, in my experience, rarely do they really understand the crops they’re working on in terms of actually growing it. Some do of course, but in the cases where they do it tends to be after the fact – in other words they learn about the crops after they begin working on them and their knowledge is often very basic. I suppose this is OK, but to me it is sad that we’re not hiring what I consider true horticulturists anymore. And, because we’re not hiring true horticulture faculty we’re not graduating many horticulturists from our graduate schools either. Sure, we’re graduating molecular biologists and biochemists – and even a few breeders (who very often are horticulturists) – but these students may or may not leave a university with knowledge of “horticulture” as a whole. And if we don’t start hiring more horticulturists what will happen? Who will teach our introduction to horticulture course – or will horticulture just fragment and we’ll all need to go looking to specialists. I don’t know, but it bothers me.
I know Friday’s puzzle was a bit too easy – but I needed some way to discuss the giant hostas we have in our landscape this year:
We have had a very wet and cold spring. While it was misery for us above-ground types, the plants absolutely loved the abundant water. When the leaves open and expand on these continually-watered plants, they reach maximum size. The hosta leaves in this photo aren’t the size of dinner plates – they’re more like turkey platters.
A word of caution to all of you with similar happy plants: when the drier, hotter months of summer arrive, you’re going to have to keep these puppies well watered. Otherwise, the leaves will soon turn crispy and brown around the edges.
What am I?
Answer Monday!
Yesterday Jeff Hahn, an entomologist here at UMN (and author of the book Insects of the NorthWoods — a great field guide for Wisconsin and Minnesota), sent me a picture which reminded me of the dark ages and the methods that leaders of the past used to scare and intimidate their subjects as well as possible invaders.
This picture came to Jeff by way of Terry Straub, a Program Coordinator for Master Gardeners in Hennepin County. Terry can’t remember where he got it from — The reason I’m mentioning this is that I’d love to give the person who originally took this picture credit for their brilliant (and somewhat disturbing) photo.
Orchid fanciers Derek and Joseph correctly identified Friday’s mystery plant as a jewel orchid, specifically Macodes petola:
Friday’s sparkly leaf photo shows why “jewel orchid” is the common name used for several genera of orchids with showstopping foliage.
And Ray noted that Goodyera spp. (rattlesnake plantain) is a native US jewel orchid with beautiful variegated foliage. Next time you’re hiking in the woods, keep your eye out for this common yet striking plant.