Grow Something Rude and Smelly!

Tired of
Tradescantia? Sick of Stachys? Exhausted from Echinacea?
Stick THIS in your border!



Dracunculus vulgaris
  at the Hahn Horticulture Garden, Virginia Tech. Hardy to USDA Zone 5b.

Closely related (as one might imagine) to
Amorphophallus. Lovely silver-splashed foliage, velvety crimson spathe, and big honkin’ spadix in early summer.


Easy to grow; part shade and good drainage seem to work well. After a few years, you’ll have several offsets to share with your dearest friends/worst enemies.

At the peak of bloom, the fragrance is reminiscent of lily or tuberose (if they were arranged on a patty of rotting hamburger).



Garden Interns Brittaney and Anna think it’s JUST FABULOUS!

Available from that purveyor of all plants phallic, 
Plant Delights.
(They have lots of other stuff, too.)

Are you a “before” or an “after” mulcher?

Planting annual displays is not (at all) my
favorite gardening pastime, but we do some "color" around our events
building and along the garden entrance to make the area pop during our busy
season.

Those of you who install institutional or commercial color beds are familiar with the process  – yank out last season’s annuals/tulips/whatever, smooth out the bed, plant new annuals, then mulch. Or…do you mulch first, then plant?

If the order of events is plant, then mulch, care must be taken not to get it all over the plants. Some over-enthusiastic students practically buried an entire display bed full of stuff last spring (more…is not always better).  We spent a great deal of time unearthing the plants, having to pull the mulch away from the crown. Alternatively, if a bed is smoothed and mulched, you have a lovely blank slate to work with, but inevitably end up with the heartbreak of surface dirt chunks and some loss of mulch.

I’m not referring to planting and mulching perennial/mixed borders, veg gardens, or anything like that.  Strictly annual displays.  But I’d like hear from those experienced with this particular facet of horticulture: before, or after?


Hello, Longwood? Hello Kitty called and wants some of her pink stuff back.
(Seriously, no one does quality color like Longwood Gardens. Except Disney.) 

A great way to plant perennials “en masse”

North Creek Nurseries in Landenberg, PA is a marvelous, native-centric (but not exclusively native) nursery.  North Creek is a wholesale propagator (sells liners
to other nurseries for finishing).  But if you can meet the $300 minimum, they’d probably be happy to fill your order. 
They have, among the usual liner sizes, a very neat product – "Landscape Plugs." I’ve been wanting to try them for a while – our work with the backhoe this past summer cleared some nice large swathes of the cursed autumn olive, and made room for perennials.  I selected a number of locally-native species from North Creek’s extensive listings, with the plan to scatter them along the creek sides and sunny spots of our 4-acre field/meadow/thingy.

Primarily marketed for restoration and conservation projects, these"landscape plugs" are simply huge liners – great for anyone who wants a large number of a certain species without paying an arm and a leg.  Each 5" deep tray holds 32 plugs.  North Creek carries a wide array of Eastern N. American natives perennials, grasses, and ferns – mostly straight species with a few named cultivars.  I ordered eight different species for a total of 256 plants (and 256 holes to dig). The species I picked out ran from $1.08 to $1.40 per plug. They arrived within a few days via UPS, packed two trays per box, and all were intact and in good shape.  All were well-rooted, having been "stuck" the previous season and then overwintered/vernalized. I expect most will bloom this year. Will report back!

North Creek Nurseries landscape plug of Solidago shortii ‘Solar Cascade.’ Nice roots, no?

Cute plant alert!

When my day/week/month is going to heck in a handbasket, when faced with yet another impending-doom deadline, when the pile of folders on my desk grows so tall I can barely see over it… when the going gets tough, a little bit of cute can go a loooong way. 

So here ’tis:

Thalictrum thalictroides ‘Pink Pearl’

Not many plants fall into the "cute as a kitten/puppy/baby duck OMG" category, but this is one of them.

Used to be Anemonella thalictroides, but recent molecular "fingerprinting" puts it into the (rather redundant) genus Thalictrum.  This April-blooming woodland native (eastern North America) usually has bright white flowers. ‘Pink Pearl’ is a marvelous pinky-lavender selection made by Dr. Jeanne Frett and the gang at the Mt. Cuba Center, Greenville, Delaware.

I took this photo at Mt. Cuba in 2008 and have waited impatiently for ‘Pink Pearl’  to appear in the trade ever since. If anyone has any info as to where to get one, do fill me in.

Tom Fischer for the WIN!

The answer to last Friday’s plant i.d. quiz is Angelia gigas. Tom guessed it; confirmed (seconded?) by Johannes.

Fairly easy biennial from seed.  Bees and butterflies love it. This one’s a bit spindly due to too much shade (it had reseeded from another spot).  And that most certainly is not a dandelion in the background.

I love the buds – before opening, the flower is encased in bract with and disguised (?) with a wee leaf-like structure at the end.

Weird Plant Wednesday!

Inspired by Linda’s Euphorbia quiz last week – here’s another:

Euphorbia tirucalli ‘Firesticks’ in the Hahn Horticulture Garden at Virginia Tech (right before we dug it up due to impending frost). Am hoping for a "comment of approval" from Hap (Mister Cactus Jungle) on this nice specimen…not bad for Zone 6a!


Same funky little leaflets/antennae… just like Linda’s Euphorbia lactea ‘Cristata’

GP factoid: also known as "milkbush," the latex sap contains terpenoids – it apparently has potential as an energy source or "hydrocarbon plant."

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.

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 ¼” 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