Leaf Blower News from California and Some Lawn-Bashing in the NYTimes
Did you hear about the GREAT news from California? The legislature passed and the governor signed a law banning gas-powered leaf-blowers and lawn-mowers! (Also chain saws, weed-trimmers and golf carts.) The ban takes effect as early as 2024, when all newly sold small-motor equipment primarily used for landscaping have to be zero-emission – either battery-operated or plugged-in. The law applies only to any engines of less than 25 gross horsepower, so it doesn’t apply to on-road motor vehicles, off-road motorcycles, all-terrain vehicles, boats, snowmobiles or model airplanes, cars or boats. Yes, it’s a burden for the landscape-care industry, so the state set aside $30 million to help professional landscapers make the transition. Industry representatives say that’s not adequate for the estimated 50,000 small businesses that will be affected by the law. Margaret Renkl’s Rant in the NY TimesNashville-based Margaret Renkl included the California news in her column “First Thing We Do, Let’s Kill All the Leaf Blowers,” describing the noise in fall as a “deafening, surging swarm, blasting from lawn to lawn and filling the air with the stench of gasoline and death. I would call them mechanical locusts…” She quotes Audobon Magazine:
And the DC-based writer James Fallows:
I’m SO on board with these sentiments! I too hate the noise but also the crap they blow into my eyes whenever one is operating nearby. A National Trend?Quoting Renkl,
Kill your Lawn, Too!But then Renkl goes after lawns – all of them:
Then, while endorsing another popular meme – Leave the Leaves! – she slings this zinger at turfgrass: [Leave the leaves] if your lawn consists of entirely of unvariegated turf grass (which it should not, given that turf grass requires immense amounts of water and poison to maintain). Like SO many Americans with lawns, when I had one I dumped neither poison NOR water on it. Eco-gardeners these days promote “good-enough lawns” that are care-free and require NO inputs, much less poisons and scarce water resources. (Okay, maybe some overseeding, watering in the new seeds, and aerating every few years if the soil is compacted.) And from my observation, most regular homeowners take the lowest-maintenance approach possible, especially when it comes to buying the “poisons” and having to apply them. That’s no fun. I imagine. Never done it! Oh, and Renkl’s term “unvariegated turf grass” is something she must have invented. At least hers is the only use of the term to be found online. If she meant perfect, uniform lawns, we’d know that’s what that means – not the typical good-enough one. But speaking of attack high-maintenance, golf-course-quality lawn care that’s done by the wealthiest minority of homeowners, let’s keep on ranting about it, maybe changing more laws. But lumping all lawn-owners in one batch of poisoners can turn off some who might just improve their lawn-care practices with good information – and no shaming. Back to Renkl’s column. When I see sweeping generalizations I naturally click on the author’s source (if there IS one), and in this case I assumed that Renkl was misinterpreting or exaggerating some study or other. The article she linked to is “Electric or Gas Leaf Blowers…Neither?” from Washington University in St. Louis. Call me a stickler but that article says NOTHING about water and poisons being required to maintain turfgass. I guess the NYT doesn’t have factcheckers. In this case I’m not surprised – I’ve seen other exaggerations in Renkl’s columns. That’s so unlike the Times’s actual garden writer, the reliably trustworthy Margaret Roach. She does the research, and keeps doing it. Washington University and “Leave the Leaves”But I was sorry to see that the Wash. U. article go farther, using the Xerces Society as a source:
Oh, dear! I complained about statements like that in my 2015 post “The NWF’s Terrible, No-Good Gardening Advice Goes Viral.” In it, I challenged the idea that turfgrass and ALL perennials are just fine under a bed of leaves all winter. Not all plants are the same! Interestingly (or sadly), the National Wildlife Federation’s original article (just ignore the title) actually advises leaf-leaving IN WOODLANDS, not gardens! But others have taken up the meme and run with it for gardens, period. Is it possible to say “Most plants are fine under a bed of leaves all winter – but check!” For checking I’d suggest reading about them – do they like to dry out between rains? Or uncovering some of your sun-loving plants from places where leaves don’t fall (Mediterranean climates with few deciduous trees), like lamb’s ears or groundcover Sedums, to see if they’re doing okay. But I know that’s way too complicated for memes. And meme’s gotta meme! Leaf Blower News from California and Some Lawn-Bashing in the NYTimes originally appeared on GardenRant on October 29, 2021. The post Leaf Blower News from California and Some Lawn-Bashing in the NYTimes appeared first on GardenRant. Via Gardening http://www.rssmix.com/via Blogger http://wendyimmiller.blogspot.com/2021/11/leaf-blower-news-from-california-and.html November 02, 2021 at 11:48PM
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Garden light
Autumn may be the most wonderful time to enjoy the effects of light in the garden. The sun is lower and softer, and the result can be amazing. We have anything but a flat garden. It does give visitors a good initial overview, and we are sheltered from the worst winds by virtue of a huge ridge behind us – to the south. So my photographer husband complains about it every year. Photographers like flat gardens. They may be boring (flat gardens) but any available light will be there, and light is what photographers need and enjoy. It’s why they get out of bed at unbelievable times when the rest of us are still asleep. Anyway, having a huge ridge above us to the south means that in winter, when the sun is low, we can lose all sunshine for two weeks or more. And for quite a while it is filtered through trees on the horizon. You need that sunshine if you’re going to enjoy the best of any snow or frost. Snow without sun is rather flat, and like flat gardens… boring. And it’s not only for photographs that that matters. It’s rather dull and disappointing for a spectator or snowman too. (sorry, ‘snow person’?) You can see some of that effect here, where the sun has got into the woods: So, it’s a bit of a shame in a way that a light lover like me has this dead time in winter. But in autumn and spring the sun reaches over that horizon and lights up the garden in a glory that summer never quite manages. Summer sun is rather too harsh. When we open the garden we watch the weather forecast anxiously, dreading rain most of all. Rain is a bit of a killer to garden delight. But really so is bright sunshine, which can make it hard to really see and appreciate a garden. Never mind that at too high a temperature garden visiting can be exhausting. I hate heat! Our openings are basically dictated by the times when people expect to visit a garden. In the UK that’s mostly Sunday afternoon. Mornings and afternoons during the week are close followers for groups – except at Veddw, where we charge extra to any party which tries to get us out of bed early. Yet, apart maybe from dawn, which I have no experience of, the evening is the time when the light is most likely to be glorious. It is evening light which gives us these amazing reflections: And autumn, when we’re also closed, may be the very best time, the time when adding sun to autumn colour can truly take your breath away. And look what sunlight can do to ornamental grasses in their late season colour: But its not always about those glowing oranges and reds. It’s light which does this for us too: Light is our greatest partner of all in the garden. No matter what we do, however well we employ our resources and create scenes of splendour and delight, it is light that will transform it all into beauty. The world is rather dull in our country until someone turns the light on. Then suddenly there is joy and beauty. It’s quite hard to know what to do with all this when you have it. It can be quite overwhelming. I can look up from my desk and see sun pointing out the glow of a tree, as demanding as any teacher requiring an instant response. Or Pampas Grass suddenly illuminated: It makes me want to wave my arms about, jump up and down or rush around mindlessly. I even take pictures from the car (as a passenger only..) And would I have taken this picture of that bloke pruning a holly unless the light in the trees had set me alight? I can love light in winter even with no sun the garden: and I love those ominous skies with light breaking through brooding cloud in spring: And when the sun shines behind a flower you suddenly see it quite differently: I love the meadow in the early evening: And in the meadow, the globes capture all the light in the sky, so that they even glow in moonlight. I haven’t taken photographs in moonlight though. BUT the sun can be dangerous, even in Wales. So sadly this is a picture I daren’t replicate, having caused smouldering with a crystal ball once: Is autumn maybe the absolute best?? Sorry, visitors – you’d have to book a special to see ours. But you probably have plenty of your own. Some countries and climates do much better than we do. What a treat. The downside is that that low autumn sun makes the windows look filthy. Garden light originally appeared on GardenRant on October 28, 2021. The post Garden light appeared first on GardenRant. Via Gardening http://www.rssmix.com/via Blogger http://wendyimmiller.blogspot.com/2021/10/garden-light.html October 28, 2021 at 05:47PM
Halloween in the garden
The word “hallow” derives from the Old English halig, meaning holy. All Hallows Eve, the evening before the holiness of All Saints Day (November 1st) is the night when the ghosts and ghouls come out—hence the garish plastic ghoulishness of many a suburban Halloween garden display. People used to be content to celebrate Halloween with a pumpkin jack-o-lantern in the window, but now many front yards host a whole stage set of Halloween characters, and keep them up a full month. The surge in popularity of a month-long domestic Halloween display during the COVID-pandemic was understandable; people in many parts of the world were locked down and entertainment had to take place outdoors and at a distance. No one wants to open their front door to unknown trick-or-treaters during a pandemic; that turned out to be a boon to the marketers of massive howling electrically-activated Halloween light shows. It used to be that Halloween was a time to display what came out of the garden, not to put pre-fabricated objects into it. It was the time to burn fallen branches on a bonfire and share the marrow harvest, a time for apple-bobbing and making witch faces out of the ones that had wrinkled past their best-before date. It was the night for pumpkin-carving artistry, candles flickering on windowsills, and porch lights left on for costumed candy-harvesting kids. Now the costumes are worn by the plastic ghouls and Halloween is families walking the neighborhoods viewing them. The demotion of the apples and marrows—which is a demotion of the earth-based symbolism around the harvest season—seems a pity. Halloween in agricultural societies was one of the highest of annual holidays; it was a celebration of successful harvest, restocked food laid in for winter, and a season of relative leisure, much like the semi-hibernation of the plant and animal world. We can still celebrate All Hallows Eve by including the bats and owls that used to take a leading role. If we want bats, we can leave hollow trunks standing, with cavities for nests. If we want owls, we could plant pine, beech, cedar, and cottonwoods. They like to roost in large trees and hate glare, so the suburban garden Halloween light display is ironically anti-owl, despite their presence on Halloween greeting cards. Some folks miss the old days when nongenetically engineered pumpkins emitted that specially pungent pumpkin-scent at the first insertion of the carving knife. We can’t recapture that from the pumpkins piled in the grocery store parking lots, nor will we scoop out seeds that can be planted for a crop next year. We can, though, in most areas, get organically grown pumpkins or seeds from open-pollinated crops planted at organic nurseries or from online sources. The scent of pumpkin seeds and pulp is most enjoyable when mingled with autumnal bonfire smokiness and the heady aroma of leaves decaying in rich soil, evoking pagan earth-based race-memories of seasonality under the harvest moon. These are memories no mechanized display can recapture. Halloween in the garden originally appeared on GardenRant on October 27, 2021. The post Halloween in the garden appeared first on GardenRant. Via Gardening http://www.rssmix.com/via Blogger http://wendyimmiller.blogspot.com/2021/10/halloween-in-garden.html October 28, 2021 at 12:47AM
I know: just kick everybody off Facebook but the gardeners
Gardeners may occupy one of the more benign sectors of social media. I was thinking of this after seeing headlines citing “indisputable harm,” “rage and misinformation,” and “choosing growth over safety” in today’s Washington Post. It’s all part of the fallout over the recent release of the Facebook Papers. This has been building for a while, but the drumbeat is getting loud enough to suggest something might actually happen. What, I don’t know. I’ll be sorry if Facebook goes away, for many reasons. For one, it’s an easy way for businesses to establish a presence on the web. Many restaurants that don’t have the expertise, time, or other resources to maintain a robust, updated website can get most of what they want done via Facebook. As a magazine editor, when looking up events and other info, I often trust a business’s Facebook page over its website, because it’s a simpler matter to update. And then there are the benefits we’re all familiar with, like keeping in touch with geographically distant friends and relatives or just a way for busy people to maintain contacts of all sorts. Our local Facebook gardeners’ group (above), which has close to 9,000 members, was threatened with extinction over a hoe-related brouhaha a few months back, but, as outraged and exasperated as members were, it was mainly because they wanted the group to continue. They appreciated the opportunity it provided to get answers, share successes, or just complain about the weather. A group like this takes some policing, and we, the admins, get disgruntled complaints now and then, but, overall, it’s been a success. We can never forget we’re at the mercy of Facebook, which recently changed its group protocols, but we also know that Facebook does offer tools that allow control—and we use them. It is maddening that the small, “kinder and gentler” groups who use this network may suffer just as much as the extremists, spammers, clickbaiters, and others who have benefited from poor regulation. Indeed, the bad actors likely won’t suffer; they’ll just move over to another vulnerable arena. I may complain about inaccurate gardening info existing on a level playing field with factual advice, but, over the months, I’ve also seen that most group members seem to be able to weed out the nonsense. I guess I’ve learned to stop worrying and accept the occasional chaos of it all. It may be an evil empire, but I’ve gotten used to it—and so have a lot of other gardeners. I know: just kick everybody off Facebook but the gardeners originally appeared on GardenRant on October 26, 2021. The post I know: just kick everybody off Facebook but the gardeners appeared first on GardenRant. Via Gardening http://www.rssmix.com/via Blogger http://wendyimmiller.blogspot.com/2021/10/i-know-just-kick-everybody-off-facebook.html October 27, 2021 at 03:47AM
Why am I JUST Discovering Zinnias in Borders?
Zinnias – I’m reading everywhere about their fabulousness in attracting pollinators, especially butterflies. In fact, when I googled the topic I surprised myself by finding my very own post, from 2015. I won’t repeat any of that but still recommend that link for info about which varieties are best at that, at least in the informal trials of one Maryland gardeners near me. (I was also surprised that in that old post I pledged to grow Zinnias as part of a new pollinator garden, which I don’t believe I ever did. Never mind!) The chorus of praise for Zinnias seemed to grow louder this year and recently Elizabeth declared her love for them, saying she’ll never be without them again! She reported on success with seedlings (not seeds), and planting them in containers. And she’s not the only GardenRanter taking up the cause. This year I experimented with both Zinnias and Marigolds directly in my borders, something I’d never done, and was wow’d by the impact they had. Okay, not the Marigolds – too small – but even just one Zinnia can pack quite a punch. Or to speak in HGTV lingo, they POP! So my question is – when did they get so great-looking? So large, with such vibrant colors? Is it new hybrids are catching my eye or have I just been immune to Zinnias’ charms all along? Above, the other orange Zinnia I planted in that border, popping even more next to an errant Morning Glory and some White Wood Aster, and being visited by a butterfly. Care and feeding – apparently not much needed!According to American Meadows, which sells Zinnias, these annual don’t need the daily watering that I normally give to container-grown flowering annuals.
I suppose they still need to be fed, which I try to do twice-monthly for flowering annuals like the container-grown Petunias shown above. Planning for 2022Like most avid gardeners, I’ve been fantasizing all season about the improvements I plan to make next year. Because we obsessively do that, right? Well! This little border in my front garden, which for so long held Arborvitaes (that were ugly) and Black-eyed Susans (that ran amok), now holds Russian Sage, Little Bluestem grasses and Sedum. I planted two clumps of ‘February Gold’ daffodils there but you know what else that spot needs, right? Fuchsia Zinnias like these babies! So when people approach my house they’ll see them and in the background, metal chairs in the same color. But best of all, I’ll be wow’d with that color all season long. Ah, 2022… Why am I JUST Discovering Zinnias in Borders? originally appeared on GardenRant on October 24, 2021. The post Why am I JUST Discovering Zinnias in Borders? appeared first on GardenRant. Via Gardening http://www.rssmix.com/via Blogger http://wendyimmiller.blogspot.com/2021/10/why-am-i-just-discovering-zinnias-in.html October 26, 2021 at 03:47AM
“Do You Like Fall?”
My physical therapist recently asked the question as she was prodding and poking me this week, and it illicited an immediate positive reaction from the part of me that still works very well – my mouth. But it also put me in mind of another friend (a nursery owner) who can never wait to tell me how much she dislikes autumn. Though her posts on social media tell a very different story – as posts always do on social media – she sees autumn as cold, wet, dismal and dark. I shared these thoughts with my tormentor, and surprisingly she felt instant kinship with my friend. And I say surprisingly, because I have always considered my friend’s views on autumn to be thoroughly heretical – and if I’m being perfectly honest, somewhat capricious. The therapist confessed to her patient. She didn’t like the shrinking of days, she told me. The closing in of everything. The quiet finality of the season. I laid there and thought about what I loved about autumn. For I do love it – spirit, mind and body. And I thought about it as I left the warmth of the office for an outside temperature that made me shiver; and I thought about it as my feet squelched through mud on the way to the car; and I thought about it as I drove home and recognized that the tulip poplars had divested themselves of three quarters of their leaves and that somehow it had become mid-October while I wasn’t watching. My love for this season goes far beyond wafts of cinnamon and the draping of porches in what has become the tedious standardization of autumn. It is a recognition of the need for contraction and for rest. For my garden, for the creatures who inhabit it, and for myself. When I am ready, it allows me the freedom to do without the inevitable undo of rampant growth. It is a true celebration and conclusion of all that has come before – the awakening of the earth and its long Dionysian revels. It is as necessary as the parent who picks up her toddler and puts it to bed long before the toddler thinks he is ready.
In the many years of my city and suburban life, I was a willing participant in Autumn — adding my straw bales and cornstalks to neighborhoods that would certainly never suffer the actual, messy creation of such things in back gardens during the rest of the year. I was joined by many others, who today move with even greater alacrity from tawny bales to evergreen wreaths, until the lack of commercially viable holidays make the bleakness of winter inescapable, and the long stretch to spring a dreary countdown. The longer I live rurally, the less I feel any need for the manifestation of the consumer season. The true fall season is immersive, deeply meaningful, and a lot less expensive. And yet it still must be sought out. If I do not take time to appreciate autumn through morning walks, or snapping photos in the garden, or hunting mushrooms, I can easily be overwhelmed by all that must be done before that first frost, and how cold my hands are doing it. Spring is not coy. It is an awakening. It is a joyful, positive, energizing season that transcends place and challenges the most melancholy to still find darkness. And as such, it is not the exclusive privilege of the country mouse who stares across greening fields with her morning coffee in hand. Step out of your apartment on the twenty-third floor (please use the stairs), and you’ll feel life returning to the gray, deadened streets of a city. The temperature is warmer, the restaurants are setting up tables outdoors, the street trees are blooming, and everyone is being a hell of a lot nicer to one another. All is potential. When I close my eyes and think back, I can remember the incredible feeling of exhilaration on the first fine day in March in the heart of whichever city I happened to be inhabiting at the time. The contrast was heartbreakingly joyful. But that is spring. Conversely, autumn is a period of contraction. It is a season that, at core, is taking away from us. If growth, vigor, life…energy must end, we want a damn good reason to be okay with it. Otherwise, in a heavily urbanized existence it is simply cruelty. Thus, #harvest signs where there is no harvest. The cinnamon oil assaulting the senses from grocery store to boutique shop. The tasteful and the tacky – all to provide some level of meaning as to why we’re being punished. Why we’re being put to bed. The meaning and the joy are there without the superficialities of retail therapy, but I think finding them requires some measure of natural connection; and if you don’t live rurally, you must actively seek it out. It is present in the quiet corners of parks and river walks. It is present in moments spent tending balcony window boxes, and in those street trees, now throwing leaves on the cars parked below. It’s even present in the warming soups and stews we instinctively crave which connect us to a harvest we did not reap, but in which we may share. Autumn is far more subtle in its joys than spring, and the worries of modern life can cunningly conceal those joys. It’s dark. I’m cold. There are wet, slimy, leaves everywhere, and I’ve got 6,459 tender plants to bring in. How much is heating oil this year?!? If we don’t look for a true connection to autumn, and thus recognize its worth, we face winter even earlier than we should. Why must the season end? Why must there be autumn? Mother Nature has spoken. Time for bed everyone. We might as well enjoy the story. – MW “Do You Like Fall?” originally appeared on GardenRant on October 21, 2021. The post “Do You Like Fall?” appeared first on GardenRant. Via Gardening http://www.rssmix.com/via Blogger http://wendyimmiller.blogspot.com/2021/10/do-you-like-fall.html October 21, 2021 at 10:47PM
Weepers Are the Pedal Steel Guitar of the Garden
There’s nothing remotely like the pedal steel guitar. When played by a true artist, its caressing whine instantly collars even the most detached listener and unceremoniously shoves them down the five flights of stairs that lead directly to an emotional reckoning. A beautiful weeping tree adds the same affect to the garden. The instant we come upon one, an emotional chord is struck. In our hearts. In our souls. It’s pretty hardcore. The classic weeper, of course, is the weeping willow. There’s nothing like one draping over a lazy body of water.
But there are some among us who argue that an old weeping beech is even better. Until someone else comes along and claims that it is, in fact, the purple weeping beech that is the holy grail of weeping trees. Until someone else shuts them both down with a solid evidence that, no, it is actually the weeping, purple, fastigiate beech that is proof that God exists. But they’re all wrong. Any weeping katsura is not only proof that God exists but will also answer any other hard questions you might have. ‘Amazing Grace’ weeping katsura does all that and also makes you rich. But the truth is, there are a lot of great weeping trees that can bring tremendous emotional wonder to your garden. Unless you use a lot of them. Okay, you can line a stream with a hundred weeping willows and it will look awesome. Or pepper a road with a dozen weeping cherries. But even a pair of different weepers together is an outrage. And more than one of any in a normal backyard or garden suggests the homeowner needs help. Name one band with more than one pedal steel guitar player. What does that tell you? When something is already great, it’s easy for more to immediately become too much.
Weepers Are the Pedal Steel Guitar of the Garden originally appeared on GardenRant on October 20, 2021. The post Weepers Are the Pedal Steel Guitar of the Garden appeared first on GardenRant. Via Gardening http://www.rssmix.com/via Blogger http://wendyimmiller.blogspot.com/2021/10/weepers-are-pedal-steel-guitar-of-garden.html October 21, 2021 at 09:47AM
Gauging Horticulture’s Place in the General Public’s Consciousness
October 16, 2021 Cincinnati, Ohio Dear Marianne, So good to receive your letter dated September 2nd. Is it possible that it’s already October 16th? I no longer have any sense for time. Every day I grind, attention set on the items on my to-do list that, left undone, are most likely to get me fired or killed. When I finally look up, it’s time for bed. I should just stop making promises based on timely commitments. I can’t seem to finish things while they still matter. But I have got a bit of an excuse for a tardy letter. Michele and I enjoyed six days in your home state. We flew to San Jose to visit my sister Karen and her family. My dad, other sister, and her husband came along too. We saw everything there is to see from San Francisco to the north to Paso Robles in the south. And we ate and drank so much I’m pretty sure we caused some shortages. Wine, especially. All told, we traveled almost 900 miles packed into a Hertz Grand Caravan minivan with over 63,000 miles on it. It featured slushy springs, hair-trigger steering, and an air conditioner that couldn’t quite keep up. By every rule in the Universe, none of us should still be on speaking terms and three of us should be changing our Facebook status to single, but, except for one meltdown, we got along. And I was reminded of how much I love California. Horticulturally, we jammed in more than our fair share of the group’s vacation time. We visited the Tea Garden at Golden Gate Park and a contingent of us stopped by the University of California, Santa Cruz Botanical Garden. The tea garden was awesome. Cool, damp, and comfortable. Perfect, as you would expect, and filled with familiar plants. The UCSC Botanical Garden is a fine collection of plants I refuse to believe are actually from this planet, including many that are supposedly from the Southern Hemisphere. But, damn, it was hot. Really hot. My dad wound up sitting in the shade while my niece and nephew and their significant others followed us around. To their credit, they feigned interest and never complained. But soon enough we realized the heat was visibly aging us so we went back to San Jose and enjoyed–get this–gin and tonics. After 50+ years following a very bad teenage gin experience, I have recovered sufficiently enough that I can, at least, hold gin down and, at most, even enjoy it. Karen’s garden in San Jose is just a lovely space packed with a thousand exuberant containers of succulents and tropicals. I took a short walk around her neighborhood and was surprised to see that some of their street trees are the same ones we grow here in Ohio—golden raintree, honey locust, ginkgo, walnuts, and London planes. I asked Karen if they ever get watered. “Oh no.” “You sure?” “Very sure.” “When did you last get rain?” “Might have been April. Could have been March.” “What the…? How the…?” For the hundredth time in recent months, I’m re-thinking everything I ever thought I knew about everything. The more I see and experience, the more I realize I probably am, and always have been, a damned idiot and totally full of shit. On the way to the airport for our return, we had time enough to swing by the San Jose Municipal Rose Garden and I fell in love with roses again. It’s amazing how clean they are in a climate devoid of any humidity.
Reminded me of the time it took me an eternity to identify a tree in Utah. It was fall of 2019. We were there to collect two gold medals from GardenComm for articles I had written. Must have done something dumb at the ceremony though. No gold medals since. But, I digress. “What is that beautiful tree?” I kept asking. After far too long, it finally dawned on me that it was…could be…a crabapple. Nothing rare. Nothing “western.” Just a freakin’ crabapple. Felt so damned stupid! Another reminder that I am and probably have always been an idiot and totally full of shit. But, in my defense, it was a crabapple without any of the features we use to identify them here in Ohio. Not a trace of scab. No rust. Zero fire blight. The plant was clean as a whistle! I’d never seen one like that before. Anyway, it just might have been possible that some big influencer from GardenComm saw this whole crabapple struggle play out. Good, old, high-falutin Scott Beuerlein, newly minted gold medal winner times two, seen struggling to identify a common crabapple. So this could be another reason why the gold medals stopped coming but I don’t really know. There could be so many other reasons. Anyway, my trip to California loaded me up with lots of ideas for future GardenRant posts, and letters, which are sure to come gushing out of me. Of course, when I say “gushing” what I really mean is dribble, dribble, dribble. As always, your letter was witty and a veritable stream of smart and interesting thoughts and ideas. One particular aside raised an issue that I really want to dwell on. Paraphrasing here, but you said something about how many, perhaps the vast majority, of the Cincinnati Zoo & Botanical Garden’s visitors are there for the animals and, therefore, to varying degrees, are oblivious to and perhaps unappreciative of the botanical garden and everything that goes into making it. I might have mischaracterized your point a little, but I think I’m in the ballpark, at least. This is something I’ve thought about a lot. I imagine a lot of people in horticulture have. For those of us who are true believers in the power of plants and tirelessly strive to convert non-believers, the challenge has always been: “How do we tease out the value of horticulture when it is almost always part of something else? A home, business, park, community, or whatever?” Cincinnati is a good place to consider this question. It is an old city with a prosperous past and more than its fair share of old money. Because of this, we enjoy a rich horticultural legacy and presence. But nearly all of its public gardens, where many of my best friends work, suffer the same dynamic. We’re all playing second fiddle to something else. At the CZBG, it’s the animals. At Cincinnati’s parks, many of which have great horticulture, most visitors are there to throw frisbees, make out at the overlooks, and attend wedding receptions. At Spring Grove Cemetery & Arboretum, which is as fine a setting as you’ll ever find for a world class collection of old, beautiful, and grand trees, the arboretum is shadowed by the dead body side of the business. And Rowe Arboretum? It has completely given up on horticulture, committing itself entirely to dwarf conifers. Of course, the first argument for horticulture is pretty obvious. People usually don’t make out, get married, get buried, or experience any of life’s other momentous occasions in hideous, horrible places. Not at all. Folks want to do those things in nice places. And what makes a place nice? Oftentimes, it’s horticulture. After eleven years wandering the paths of the Cincinnati Zoo, I don’t believe most of our visitors are oblivious and unappreciative of the botanical gardens. Many, even non-gardeners, truly enjoy the color, the shade, and the feeling they get by being in nature. The rest still feel the horticulture and benefit from it too, but at an even more subconscious level. Perhaps feeling it without knowing it. Now, of course, there are places where horticulture is front and center, and the first of these that come to mind is the High Line in New York. The place is always crowded and horticulture is the top draw. But, two questions, 1) How many of these visitors are horticultural literati like you and me? 2) How many are the unwashed, unenlightened, horticulturally ignorant masses? Answers: 1) Tiny percentage. 2) The vast majority. And that’s awesome! The last time I was there, I got emotional. Not surprising. I’m a super emotional guy who chokes up at many commercials that feature soft piano music and any that have a dog in them and there I was, in a sea of humanity, every one of them polite and respectful in their reverence for a garden. They shuffled along at communion line speed and spoke in the hushed tones of a group of Knights of Columbus fellows who had just seen an image of Mary in the condensation of a beer can. And this was proof that horticulture matters! When everyday people see good horticulture they feel it. They get it. They want to bring more of it into their lives. In my more horticulturally despairing moments, I cling to the idea of the High Line as if it were a floating wooden door after a shipwreck. While I gladly rode that emotion, sadly, I didn’t feel the High Line in the same way the others all did. I know too much. I was thinking about the horticulture. I was marveling at the breadth of the plant material. I was wondering where they were able to obtain many of these plants. I was thinking about the other visitors. And I’m willing to bet that the same is true with other horticulturists who visit, which is the reason why I believe that those who know less about horticulture feel it and need it and find joy in it more. Certainly, more purely. Our job, as horticulturists, is to find ways to give it to them. Sometimes I want my horticultural innocence back. So, yeah, the Zoo isn’t the High Line and only a minority come specifically for the gardens. Most are young families who are there mostly to get out the kids out of the house. They are smack dab in the thickest part of their lives, raising kids, making house payments, balancing two careers with childcare, homework, soccer practices, and more. They are tired, stressed, distracted, and, dammit, they probably aren’t gardeners. So maybe they are not especially primed to enjoy a first-class horticultural experience, but they get it anyway. Simply because it is there. And who can measure what it means to them, collectively and as individuals? When you add up all the countless moments of all the millions of guests who find themselves in the presence of magnificent trees, of beautiful flowers, and surrounded by the very essence of life, you know wonderful things have happened–commitments to improve, changes for the better, life decisions, or maybe just a much needed moment of peace. One of the challenges horticulture faces in proving its importance is that it does most of its best work at the subconscious level. Of course, I say all of this in the shadow of having visited the Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park with my non-gardening sister. Can safely say no transformational moment happened there. So, keep in mind, I probably am, and always have been, a damned idiot and totally full of shit. Yours, Scott Gauging Horticulture’s Place in the General Public’s Consciousness originally appeared on GardenRant on October 17, 2021. The post Gauging Horticulture’s Place in the General Public’s Consciousness appeared first on GardenRant. Via Gardening http://www.rssmix.com/via Blogger http://wendyimmiller.blogspot.com/2021/10/gauging-horticultures-place-in-general.html October 18, 2021 at 03:47AM
If my Gardens were All-Native, there’d be Missing these Favorites
Recently, our English partner in GardenRanting – Anne Wareham – commented (on this post), “It would be useful for someone from the UK to know more about why native plants in America are fundamentally different from others, so that they impact on design this way.” Native Deciduous Trees – We’ve Got ’em!Good question! And I promised to answer, starting with the disclaimer that I can only speak for my region (since in the U.S. there are so many different ones). Here in the Maryland, like much of the East, land was mostly covered in deciduous forest, so there are plenty of excellent deciduous trees to choose from that are native here. And according to Doug Tallamy, trees like white oaks are the most important native plants for the wildlife we want to preserve and protect. Conifers? Not So MuchHere in the East, native conifers are few and far between – at least ones that would fit in most gardens. Sources agree:
Nonnative Shrubs I’ve GrownNow for shrubs – the plants that form the bones of our home gardens, that make them look like gardens even in winter, these are the nonnative plants most necessary, in my experience and observation. Of all the shrubs and small trees I’ve grown in my two Maryland gardens, these are the only natives: Ninebark, Fothergilla, Redbud, Dogwood, and some of the near-native Oakleaf Hydrangeas. None are evergreen. Now for the nonnatives. Pictured above are some of the nonnative shrub photos that have been major contributors to my gardens: Caryopteris, Weigelia, Acuba, Crepe Myrtle, Spirea, Pieris japonica, Lacecap Hydrangeas, Beautyberry, Forsythia, Roses and Nandina. Others not pictured include Korean Boxwood, Azaleas, False Holly, Purple Smokebush, Koreanspice and Doublefile Viburnum, Japanese Maple, Arborvitae, Chinese Juniper, Acuba, Abelia, and Mock Orange. And these are the nonnative evergreen shrubs I’ve used as foundation plants – the ‘Otto Luyken’ laurels above in my former garden (plus Korean Boxwoods), and below, ‘Goshiki’ Osmanthus, Azalea, Spirea and Nandina along the front of my current home. The Need for More Landscape-Worthy ShrubsA writer for Ecolandscaping.org addresses this problem in his article High Impact Native American Shrubs”. (Spoiler alert – there’s not much except Ninebark.) Bolding by me.
Speaking of blind recommendations of native plants, one often-recommended source of information for home gardens is this booklet of native plants from the National Park Service. Its meagre photos and descriptions give no indication as to which plants perform well in actual gardens, but this inappropriate resource continues to be cited because nothing appropriate exists. So far, anyway. The Problem of Groundcovers Groundcovers are another essential plant group in successful landscapes, the most common one being turfgrass. I quit lawns about 12 years ago and have researched alternative groundcovers ever since. (Because with precipitation, which we have here in the East, ground must be covered or weeds will do it for us.) The only successful native groundcover I’ve found and recommend is Packera aurea, a woodland plant that prefers shade or part sun. The nonnative ones that perform well in my garden are ‘Ice Dance’ Carex. Sedum takesimense, Mondo Grass, Comfrey (Symphytum grandiflorum), Creeping Jenny, Liriope and Periwinkle. I hasten to add that none are growing where they might harm natural areas. Annuals and BulbsNaturally, because this region has freezing temps in winter, none of the annuals that I grow – Zinnias, Sweet Potato Vine, Coleus, Iresine, and Morning Glory, and Bronze Fennel – are native, so they’d be missing from an all-native garden. My spring-blooming bulbs would be missing too – Daffodils, Grape Hyacinths and Spanish Bluebells. Sun-Loving Native Perennials – Some Great ChoicesNow for some good news! For a part of the country that was once forest and will revert to forest if given the chance, it’s surprising that there are so many sun-loving native perennials to choose from. In perusing my photo folder named “Favorite Perennials,” I came across some great native plants that have performed well in my gardens. Above are Joe Pye Weed, Spiderwort, Aster, Amsonia hubrichtii, Goldenrod, Rudbeckia and Purple Coneflower. (The Coneflower may or may not be native to this region; some experts say it was introduced in the East by Lewis and Clark.) I also currently grow these sun-loving native perennials: Crossvine, Honeysuckle (Lornicera sempervirens), Butterfly Weed (my new favorite perennial), Woodland Aster, Coreopsis, and Little Bluestem. Sadly, perennials alone don’t make for a great-looking home garden. So when people ask me about pollinator gardens, for example, I say they’re a great addition to home landscapes but by themselves, no substitute for one that looks good all year round. Favorite Nonnative PerennialsFortunately there are also many well-adapted nonnative perennials, of which some of my favorites have been Daylilies, ‘Autumn Joy’ Sedum, Siberian Iris, Lamb’s Ear, Rose Campion, Russian Sage, Mexican Evening Primrose, Hosta, Pulmonaria, Catmint and Autumn Fern. Back to you, AnneI hope that answers your most excellent question. If my Gardens were All-Native, there’d be Missing these Favorites originally appeared on GardenRant on October 15, 2021. The post If my Gardens were All-Native, there’d be Missing these Favorites appeared first on GardenRant. Via Gardening http://www.rssmix.com/via Blogger http://wendyimmiller.blogspot.com/2021/10/if-my-gardens-were-all-native-thered-be.html October 15, 2021 at 11:47PM
Agent Hash and the Sichuan Peppercorn
The USDA agent introduced himself as “Mr. Hash.” I worried I was having a flashback. I struggled to avoid asking, “You’re f#@*ing kidding me?” This is a follow up to last month’s story Sorrow and Solace in Sichuan on 9/11. I’d sent 140 seed accessions to Jelitto Perennial Seeds, following a 2001 Sichuan collecting trip. The shipment was approved by the Chinese authorities. Jelitto cleaned the seeds, got a German phytosanitary certificate, and sent a selected few seed packets to me, including one with cleaned seeds of peppercorn, purchased from an open-air Sichuan market. I sowed the seeds immediately. (My seeds didn’t germinate, but the seed pros in Germany succeeded, as ever.) I had become fond of Sichuan food flavored with the tongue tingling, fiery-tasting prickly-ash tree, Zanthoxylum simulans. I’d also developed the long-lasting impression that every small Sichuan town smelled like stir-fried peppercorn and diesel exhaust. Jelitto had labeled the packet with the common name, and though the Latin name is required, it mistakenly passed USDA inspection. A week or two after the seeds arrived in Louisville, I got a surprise visit from a new agent of the local USDA office. Jelitto was on good terms with the USDA. We didn’t stock any seed, and played by the rules, but I wondered at the time if the USDA thought our one-person office, marketing over 3000 varieties of perennial seeds across North America, looked suspicious. The USDA agent introduced himself as Agent Hash.I worried I was having a flashback. I struggled to avoid asking, “You’re f#@*ing kidding me?” I vaguely recall meeting an incarnation of Mr. Hash at the Atlanta Pop Festival on July 4th, 1970. Jimi Hendrix was about to come on stage. My memory is fuzzy, though I remember a sea of tie-dye. There was no hidden stash for Agent Hash and, before he left, he told me proudly that he’d confiscated 50 LBS of Sichuan peppercorns in Louisville’s Asian markets earlier in the day. I was confused. I asked Agent Hash what the problem was with Sichaun peppercorns. He said sternly that it was in the citrus (Rutaceae) family. I had presumed wrongly that the peppercorn was in the deadly nightshade (Solanaceae) family with tomatoes, potatoes, bell peppers, hot peppers and eggplants. The Sichuan peppercorns were banned from entry into the U.S. because of legitimate concerns about citrus canker being spread to oranges, lemons, limes, etc. I told Mr. Hash how much I loved Sichuan peppercorns. I followed him out the door and, like a curious boy, asked if I could see the confiscated goods from the raid. He popped open the trunk and I felt like I was watching the end to an episode of America’s Most Wanted. Agent Hash calmly assured me that the Asian markets would be restocked the next week in the continuing culinary cat and mouse game. For the next three years, until the ban was lifted, I pleaded in Chinese restaurants for my stir fry to be flavored with hua jiao (the Chinese name). My question always raised a red flag. Kitchen doors opened and eyes would appear, and I was told the Sichuan spice was not available. The answer was always the same—unless I was with Asian friends. I could have been Agent Hash in disguise.The Feds eventually lifted the peppercorn ban in 2004, when it became clear they were fighting a losing battle. They offered a fix: the seed pods could be treated by exporters for 20 minutes at 140 degrees in order to eliminate any chance of citrus canker. I’m working up a list of vegetable, annual and perennial flowers to sow early next year. I’ve already sown seeds of chokeberry and bottlebrush buckeye. I sowed them in beds outdoors. One year I would like to try growing seeds of the Sichuan peppercorn again and also the American relative—toothache tree— Zanthoxylum americanum. If I succeed, I will happily share my end-of-the alphabet, botanic booty with Mr. Hash, or a cooked meal, but I haven’t seen him since. In addition to Zanthoxylum germination fantasies, I now enjoy cooking with Sichuan peppercorns. Are you tempted? You should sow seeds of Zanthoxylum outdoors in the fall to allow a warm period, followed by the natural temperature rhythms of the cold winter to break down germination inhibitors. If you’re lucky, germination may proceed as spring is rolled out. You can find cooking recipes online, but I wing it with my stir fry, lending it a bit of southern flair. Throw peppercorns into a mix with olive oil and minced garlic, then add a vegetable medley of green beans, okra, corn, bell peppers, sun-dried tomato bruschetta plus pieces of cooked chicken or whatever else comes to mind. Touch it up with black pepper, salt, cumin, and turmeric, then smother a plate of wild rice with the stir fry. You’re still not convinced?Trust me on this next one. I’ve got an addictive alternative: Peanuts flavored with Sichuan peppercorns. Tell your friends you heard it first on the Garden Rant. Agent Hash and the Sichuan Peppercorn originally appeared on GardenRant on October 13, 2021. The post Agent Hash and the Sichuan Peppercorn appeared first on GardenRant. Via Gardening http://www.rssmix.com/via Blogger http://wendyimmiller.blogspot.com/2021/10/agent-hash-and-sichuan-peppercorn.html October 13, 2021 at 11:47PM |