Beauty And The Zits

Shooting skyward, over six feet tall, the handsome stranger peeked over the stockade fence.  This mystery was accompanied by some commoners, including daisy fleabane, Queen Anne’s lace, and pink cosmos, all living in the giant’s shadows in a narrow strip along the gravel.  Featuring short, dense, bottlebrush leaves on a few lanky stems, it was topped by brilliant scarlet, trumpet-shaped flowers.  Not a well-known wildflower, and not a nasty invasive, a little Wednesday morning detective work pinned this suspect as Ipomopsis rubra, a.k.a. Texas plume, standing cypress, or scarlet gilia.  A truly beautiful thing, it can tolerate hot, dry soil, and exists as a biennial or short-term perennial.  Hummingbirds, legendary for their attraction to flowers in shades of red, not surprisingly serve as pollinators of this species.  Probably not a garden stalwart to count on for a floral display, but lovely when it appears, a gift from the gardening gods who all too often send us crazy snake worms, tomato blights, and, as I’ll later describe, plant zits.

But where is it native?  This is a question recently asked and answered by a team of botanical researchers from the Universities of North and South Carolina.  They note that I. rubra was a well-known garden plant at the time of the Civil War.  Bartram, traveling through Georgia and Florida, described it growing wild in 1791, and even earlier, Johann Dillenius was studying the seeds and growing it at Oxford University in England in 1732.  Yet it remained unclear where exactly the species originated and where it later traveled, aided by humans.  By studying every available herbarium record, the scientists have concluded that standing cypress is native in small pockets, from low country North Carolina to Texas and Oklahoma, and lives in a wide variety of habitats, from prairie to seashore, from granitic soils to limestone.  Occurrences north of Arkansas and ranging all the way into Ontario are likely introduced, including the plant growing right here in Troy.

Much less desirable and even more obscure, the Rudbeckia psyllid is making its presence known in a local garden.  We first learned of this strange insect in 2016, when a Master Gardener found it in her brother’s garden in Massachusetts, feeding on the ever-popular botanical megastar Goldsturm Rudbeckia.  Apparently not an entomologist, the brother described the damage as “zits,” but a more prosaic description could be purplish-black spots with greenish raised bumps. 

Although the details of their biology remain obscure, these creatures have several names, including psyllids, triozids, and “jumping plant lice.”  When in the mature nymphal state, they are about one-eighth inch long, flattened and very colorful with a light green abdomen, red-orange head and thorax, and white wing pads. They feed by inserting their needle-like mouthparts into lower surfaces of the leaf and sucking out plant juices. This feeding causes a distinct, shallow depression and purplish spots.  We aren’t sure how much trouble these triozids might cause in the future, but acne is no acme of anyone’s summer.

Stout and The Tawny

The ditch lilies are out in force.  Excuse me for using what seems to be a tawdry name, perhaps you know them by the more accepted monikers tawny orange daylilies or Hemerocallis fulva.  Natives of Asia, legend has it they were brought here by sea captains bearing gifts for their wives (who might have longed for something shinier).  No doubt their bright orange flowers, with pale stripes and yellow throats, delighted nineteenth century gardeners, who were daylily-deprived.  Although each blossom lasts for only a day, they flower abundantly and possess a tenacious spirit, growing in a wide range of conditions and re-appearing after being mowed, grazed, or even sprayed with herbicide.  Given their ability to spread, H. fulva is considered an exotic invasive through much of the eastern U.S. and in pockets farther west.  But as intruders go, it is difficult to thoroughly dislike the eye-dazzling trumpets, which seem to scream, “its summer, its hot, and so am I!”

With both rhizomes (spreading roots) as well as tubers (swollen underground storage organs), tawny daylilies are tough customers which can move.  Oddly enough, for all the show of the flowers, most of the plants we see “in the wild” are somewhat useless from a biological perspective, since they rarely reproduce from seed.  This is because they are a triploid form, and while producing viable pollen, they are otherwise sterile.  This triploid form is scientifically known as Hemerocallis fulva variety fulva.  Other forms of H. fulva, many long-cultivated in Asia for food, medicine, and beauty, also made their way to European and American gardens, along with other species of daylilies, which total about twenty in number.

Providence smiled upon the daylily when a Midwestern farm lad met H. fulva in the 1890’s.  Young Arlow Burdett Stout was intrigued by his mother’s tawny daylilies, growing by the porch, which produced no seeds.  He went on to study botany at the University of Wisconsin, and soon earned a Ph. D. from Columbia.  By 1911 he was working at the New York Botanical Garden, where in the 1920’s he obtained daylily plants and seeds from Asia.  Keeping meticulous records, he started hybridizing, eventually making over 50,000 crosses and raising thousands of seedlings, which were evaluated and culled, leaving only about 100 plants good enough to become named varieties. 

And oh what varieties they were!  The first one to hit the market, in 1929, was ‘Mikado,’ a strong yellow with dark red bands.  One of ‘Mikado’s’ parents was, unsurprisingly, H. fulva.  Daylily popularity boomed with the introduction of more of Stout’s hybrids, encouraging other plant breeders to get involved as well.  Today we have almost 50,000 named hybrid daylilies in vast array of colors, forms, and sizes.  Each year, one new daylily cultivar wins the Stout Silver Medal, the highest honor given by the American Daylily Society.  2018’s winner, ‘Entwined In The Vine,’ is a lavender pink, with a darker lavender multi-colored eye, yellow-green throat, and rippled ivory edge.  You’ve come a long way, tawny.      

Surviving Shock

In spring, along with rising sap, a gardener’s passions run high.  Most of us need to get in the car, travel to several nurseries and garden centers, and exchange some green (cash) for some green (plants).  We tote our purchases home, plant them, then expect them to perform.  What do the plants do?  After realizing they aren’t in Kansas anymore, some adjust to their new digs just fine, while others sulk, entering a phase some call “transplant shock.”  That’s just what we want to avoid.

Plants live on a slower schedule than we do.  It is not at all uncommon for a newly-planted tree to take three to five years to re-establish itself in a new location.  During this long re-adjustment period, the tree may show a host of distress symptoms.  These range from delayed leaf emergence in the spring, smaller leaves, off-color leaves, and early fall color to stunted growth, stem dieback, secondary insect and disease issues, and limited flowering.  Of course, the ultimate expression of dissatisfaction is when the tree checks out and dies.  Good gardeners can read these symptoms and possibly provide some corrective action, while the non-horticultural remain blissfully ignorant, become helpless or get angry.  Unfortunately, there is no mandatory coursework required to enter plant parenthood, but maybe there should be.

The list of reasons why transplanted plants fail to thrive could fill a textbook, and since plants can’t talk, we probably don’t know the half of it.  Consider that some nursery plants are of poor quality – with undersized root systems, or excessively pot-bound roots, or stresses from pest issues or poor handling techniques.  Any sort of root damage along the way from the production farm to the sales lot to your home is likely to show up as dieback on top.  Mishandling plants can have lasting results.  I get a chuckle when I see trucks flying down the road, nursery stock hanging on in back, leaves blowing in a fifty mile-per-hour breeze.  What foliage does hang on after that joyride is likely to become a desiccated mess. 

Matching the plant to the site is critical.  Some plants like shade, some like sun, some tolerate both.  For example, a rhododendron is not a good plant for a hot, dry parking lot, but I’ve seen it attempted.  Heavy clay soils are likely to retain a lot of water and have low oxygen content, so choose plants which can tolerate “wet feet” here.  Sandy soils are likely well aerated but may lack moisture, so drought tolerant species are a must.  It pays to stick a shovel in the ground and take a look at the soil before choosing what to put in it.  Windy areas are typically difficult locales for broadleaved evergreen plants, and even needled evergreens may have trouble establishing there.  Places which are exposed to road salt require salt-tolerant plants.  Even simply low spots and high spots have their challenges.  While plant tags are helpful, there really isn’t any substitute for knowing the likes and dislikes of the plants you bring home. 

Tough and Easy

Can something be “tough and easy” at the same time?  I say “yes!” when it comes to gardening with perennials.  Plants are said to be tough when they tolerate poor soil, drought, insect pests, and the other perils Mother Nature periodically reigns down.  They’re easy if you don’t have to spend a lot of time staking, dividing, restraining, or otherwise futzing over them.  At North Greenbush’s Robert C. Parker School, where we have our Master Gardener Demonstration Garden, the wide-open, full sun site and compacted, clay-and-rock growing stratum have provided excellent proving grounds for what grows in a tough place.  We don’t have delphiniums, for example, because, while stunningly beautiful, delphiniums need the same constant nurturing as a preemie.  But we do have some attractive plants which can allow you to have (is it possible?) a life in addition to the garden.

Nothing is easier, for example, than ornamental grasses.  Some have incredible foliage, such as Blue Dune Lyme grass (Elymus arenarius ‘Blue Dune’), with its pale blue leaves and rather unkempt habit.  Also colorful is spiky blue fescue (Festuca ovina), which actually demands well-drained, poor soil and will languish if given too much love (see photo on right).  The main point of interest for feather reed grass, (Calamagrostis acutiflora), is the soft plumes of flowers and seeds which reach five feet or so above a clump of green foliage.  Many grasses, such as the switchgrasses (Panicum sp.), provide increased interest as the season progresses, as they flower and produce ornamental seedheads in late summer, and look snazzy well into fall.  Sedges are also easy to grow but often overlooked.  One of the most handsome (in my mind at least) is Carex siderosticha ‘Variegata,’ a low-grower and slow-spreader with green leaves edged in white.  Flashier ‘Banana Boat’ has yellow leaves edged in green.

The 1980’s wasn’t just the decade of big hair, glasnost and The Yugo, but also marked the widespread appearance of three perennial biggies:  Stella D’Oro daylily, Goldsturm rudbeckia and Autumn Joy sedum.  This trio is still extremely popular, almost to the point of redundancy, because they are so long blooming, tough and easy.  Stella was one of the first compact daylilies to re-bloom, and it is a rather vivid shade of yellow-orange (think processed American cheese).  For some reason, it is often planted with pink flowers, with mind-bending results.  Fortunately, newer, similar daylilies, such as ‘Happy Returns,’ ‘Purple de Oro’ and ‘Little Business’ have widened the possible color spectrum.  Goldsturm (in English “gold storm”) has golden daisy-like flowers with dark centers and a sunny black-eyed Susan look.  And while there is an entire wonderful world of sedums to explore, nothing compares to the joy of Autumn Joy’s pink flowers in, you guessed it, the fall (see photo on left).

 

Would you like something more exotic?  How about Culver’s root (Veronicastrum virginicum) with its white flower spikes, pointy leaves and architectural stance.  Or wine cups (Callirhoe involucrata), magenta flowers on a sprawly, geranium-like plant which combines well with lady’s mantle (Alchemilla mollis) (photo on right) and lambs’s ear (Stachys byzantine).  All are tough, yet easy.

Mowing Matters

Living in a landscape of lawns as we do, it would seem knowing how to use a power mower would be second nature.  But as I watched someone blow clippings all over a sidewalk and hit a crabapple tree with a push mower from my office window, I discovered yet another teachable moment.

Let’s start with height.  Mowing grass that is 4 inches high down to 3 inches is just right.  This observes the “1/3 rule,” which states that removing just that much from the grass plant is best for it’s health.  It also leaves the grass tall enough to shade out weeds and maintain a generous root system, yet short enough that it looks good.  Using a mowing height shorter than 2.5 inches is asking for a weed invasion, since grasses are weakened and more light reaches the soil surface.  On some riding mowers, you just turn a dial or move a lever to set the height.  My walk-behind is more complex, but fiddling with the lever on each wheel and using a ruler makes it possible.

Clippings can cause controversy.  As a teenager I liked hitching the Parker Sweeper to my dad’s mower, since this meant that I didn’t have to spend hours raking and carting the mess to the compost pile.  But things have changed since the 70’s, even mowing.  About 30 years ago, researchers from Texas A & M University studied lawn clippings and came to a number of conclusions.  Unless they are clumpy, clippings don’t hurt the lawn, but in fact add back a tremendous amount of nutrients, and they don’t contribute to thatch.  Leaving clippings on the lawn makes less work, and also keeps them out of the landfills.  This was all big news at the time.  In fact, one of my first tasks as a new Cooperative Extension agent in 1989 was to educate folks about “grasscycling,” as we called it then.  Some folks warmed to the idea, while others kept on collecting.

The big breakthrough came when manufacturers perfected the mulching mower.  Using modified or multiple blades and new deck designs, these modern marvels chop up the clippings much finer than the mowers of yesteryear.  My dad’s old Simplicity made piles of debris, whereas my new John Deere produces very little.  I haven’t picked up clippings in years, and my lawn is all the better for it.  My neighbor still collects, bags, and hauls it all to the town dump, but only because his wife makes him do it.

Of course, challenges remain.  Mowing wet or tall grass can be problematic, and fast driving, dull blades or a clogged deck add to the misery.  But blowing grass clippings onto sidewalks and roadways or into waterways or storm drains is my biggest pet peeve.  Clippings are rich in nutrients, and end up polluting lakes and rivers.  In fact, a recent University of Minnesota study found that up to 36% of water pollution from households came from two sources:  grass clippings and pet waste.  So watch where waste goes.       

Veggie History:  Strawberries

Source: Cornell U.

It's shortcake season! Volunteer fire companies, church auxiliaries, and garden clubs now are busy posting signs daily along roadsides announcing "Strawberry & Short Cake Festivals," and the red berries  displayed in pint and quarter baskets   fill the stalls at local farmer markets. 

But did you know that these familiar strawberries (Fragaria x ananassa)  are actually an European  cultivar of two crossed wild varieties from the New World?

Native Americans  introduced European settlers to the eastern  variety, Fragaria virginiana. Although the settlers sometimes included it in their gardens, they generally picked the berries in the surrounding woods; and  Europeans returning to the  Old World took plants back to their  gardens.  In the early 18th century, F. virginiana  probably accidentally hybridized with another New World species, Fragaria chiloensis that grew along the West Coast and in South America to produce  our familiar F. x ananassa.   This hybrid quickly displaced Fragaria fresca (the "alpine strawberry" common throughout the Northern Hemisphere), in European gardens, it and soon traveled back across the Atlantic.  By the end of 18th century the new strawberry was being sold to gardeners like Jefferson by "plant men" in America. The rest is history, of course; but for a lot more information about strawberries, see Strawberryplants.org. 

And remember:

"I eat a lot of fruit because if I fill up on strawberries or an apple, then I'll have one small 

piece of cheesecake rather than two big pieces." - Tom Fridan

Adopted from a June, 2019 post from the Rensselaer County Vegetable Blog

by Irv Stephens, Master Gardener

One Day In May

Gardeners are busy people.  Pruning, planting, mulching, mowing and countless other jobs have us working like a baby bird’s parents.  How about just walking around and admiring the fruits of our labors?  On the last weekend of May, I took a stroll on my own 1.3 acres to simply enjoy.

The front yard “rock garden” (a poor example of the genre, since it contains no alpine plants) is home to a lovely patch of dwarf crested iris.  Only a few inches tall, the lovely pale blue blossoms with gold-crested falls make a tiny patch of sky fallen to earth.  Nearby, the sometimes thuggish Ajuga reptans is also in bloom, with attractive electric purple-blue spikes.  The ajuga is kept in check by even more vigorous sedums, and as a sedum fan, I think they can’t do much wrong.  Residing on the corner of the house is a large Doublefile Viburnum with tiers of snowy-white flowers.  This particular plant is plagued with a mild case of branch canker dieback, but looks good today, so I won’t fret.

The gravel driveway hosts compaction-tolerant weeds as well as a few pioneer perennials.  Escaping rich soil for poor, blue fescue clumps happily self-sow in a small patch I back over with my truck every day.  They just don’t care.  Gardening websites prescribe rich, compost-amended soil and plenty of moisture for tall bleeding heart (Dicentra spectabilis), but at my place they volunteer to line the driveway, abandoning better digs in the backyard.  

The perennial garden out back reaches peak color in mid-summer, but a few plants are looking showy now.  Big-root geranium, in both palest pink and darker pink hues, is a bomb-proof perennial groundcover with a short flowering period but good foliage continuously.  New Hampshire Purple geranium is another stalwart, growing to about 12 inches high and 18 inches wide, and produces deep pink flowers sporadically all season.  John Elsley (the perennial geranium, not the gentleman) is even shorter, at 6 inches tall, with similar flowers.  Both these cultivars are called “bloody cranesbills” for their deep-red autumn foliage and pointy seedpods.  Mourning widow geranium has attractive deep maroon-purple flowers, but unfortunately she is rather promiscuous, sowing herself a little too freely for my taste, but I let her stay.  I’ve had all these plants over twenty years running, making hardy geraniums one of my better garden investments.

A brief but welcome display is offered by a small patch of Camassia, bulbous plants from the western U.S.  Their floral spikes of vivid blue, star-like blossoms are an annual treat and take me out west to Utah without leaving Schodack.  Pagoda dogwoods, a native understory tree, are dotted with clusters of tiny, creamy-while flowers on their wedding-cake layers of branches.  And in the smell-it-before-you-see-it department, quirky umbrella magnolia is covered with bowl-shaped blooms of up to 10 inches across atop its two-foot long leaves. 

Each day in the garden is beautiful and different; slow down to see it.