Strange Surprises in the Garden

It must have been an exciting time for botanists when they were first exploring the rainforests and mountain valleys of the world. At every turn, they’d discover something that had only ever been seen by the Indigenous people of the area. Alas, I must stick to exploring my own garden, staying away when mosquitos are about, and retreating to air conditioning when it’s too hot to putter.

Yet I can sense a little of that excitement when a new plant in my garden finally flowers, and I didn’t have to trek through a distant rainforest to discover it. It’s usually something I found at a nursery or grew from seed, a plant that anyone could grow. But occasionally, purely by chance something unique appears, something so unusual few have seen it, something that can’t be reproduced, at least not outside a lab.

I have had plants with strange flowerheads, mostly ones deformed by fasciation. Grow enough plants and it will show up. I’ve seen it cause flattened spires on Veronica and contorted echinacea flowers. Fasciation can be due to a virus or bacteria, a genetic mutation, or simply damage to the plant. The exact cause is difficult to determine. Sometimes the appearance is unsightly, but it would be rare for the whole plant to be infected. Another cause of deformed flowers is a viral-like disease called Aster yellows. It happens thanks to an organism spread by a leaf hopper, and it's more likely to occur during cool, wet summers, certainly not this one.

These aren’t common, but then something truly unusual appears, a once in a lifetime event, at least in my lifetime. A few years ago, a calla lily threw up a beautiful work of art, a perfectly formed twin flower, joined at the stem. I do keep the same tubers from year to year and I hoped it would occur again, or in subsequent years, but it’s never happened, at least not yet. It so impressed a friend when she saw it, that it inspired her to incorporate the image into one of her works. It’s now represented in a painting by artist Elizabeth Dailey. She calls the acrylic painting Lily Lily and feels it represents everyone's duality, like the Roman god, Janus.

Another floral surprise has occurred twice on a waterlily in my pond, about three years ago and again this year; however, it’s not as rare as I first thought. The plant is a cultivar named Wanvisa, an award winner that won the best new water lily of the year in 2010. I’ve had it in my pond since 2013 where it flowers reliably every summer. It has lovely peachy-pink blooms with yellow speckles, and it has a reputation for occasionally reverting in places to the bright yellow of one of the parents. This can happen on hybrid plants. Sometimes it’s welcomed, or not when the breeder’s intention is to produce a reliable plant that blooms with consistent features.

This was acceptable with Wanvisa because it contributed to an exceptional plant. Mostly, the changes are slight variations in colour, but sometimes it results in a few pure yellow petals or parts of petals that contrast oddly with the rest of the flower. The first time this happened on mine I was fascinated. The reversion occurred perfectly across the centre of the flower, a true two tone. More recently the reversion hasn’t been so precise, but it is exciting to see. It could be considered a Chimera, a genetic change when the cells of distinct species are mixed.

If you discover an odd plant in your garden, value it as you may never see it again. Unique holes from chewing insects don’t count.

Bumper Crop

The zucchini harvest is in and it's a bumper crop. That's one use for them -- as bumpers. Hang them over the side of your boat or around your dock. Anything to get rid of the things. Me, I'm running out of ideas. They're taking over the backyard, the compost is overflowing, and the relatives are pretending not to be home when we visit. Lately I've taken to leaving them at the front of the house with a sign saying, FREE. Naturally, I always choose a different house -- preferably on the other side of the city.

What I don't understand is, I thought I'd got rid of all my zucchini by the end of August, but I found more last week and again I had to take a detour on the way to work. I thought I was getting the hang of it, leaving before daylight and stopping on a quiet street, but this time I'd only just heaved one out of the trunk when I spotted someone writing down my license number. I put the zucchini back and took off real fast. I ended up leaving them on an elevator at city hall. It was either there or on a bus leaving town.

Then it happened again. The other morning, I discovered three more in the garden -- monsters. I couldn't understand where they'd come from. After the last episode I'd made a point of ripping out anything that resembled a zucchini plant, and yet here were more hiding out under the tomatoes, almost hidden under the foliage. This was impossible; zucchini may grow fast, but they are lazy travellers: They certainly don't drag themselves thirty feet across the veggie patch to lurk under tomato plants. I had a sneaky suspicion these were alien zucchinis -- that is, not grown in my yard. 

I figured someone was using my place as a zucchini dump, and I had a darn good idea who it was -- Shirl from down the street. Whenever I see her, she's walking around with a zucchini under each arm, and I overheard her at the garden centre a while back complaining that her place was overrun with them. She was blaming the folks there for selling her zucchini plants instead of cantaloupe. She gave me a real zucchini-shrinking look when I muttered something about it serving her right for not knowing the difference. I would have kept my mouth if I'd known she'd bear a grudge. It had to be Shirl.

Guess where I took those latest zucchinis -- right down to her place, but not until after dark. Although there was a full moon that night, I wasn't worried. I figured Shirl would be asleep because, like me, she's an early riser, always up early puttering around the yard. I simply walked confidently through the gate and down into her veggie patch. I planned to be in and out in a flash. I shoved the zucchinis in beside her others and was about to leave when I spotted a slug. It didn't matter that it was one of Shirl's slugs; I automatically squished it. Then I saw another, and another. Next thing you know, I'm so busy squishing slugs I forget about the time.

I was still there when a light came on and Shirl appeared on the deck. I realized where I was and made a dive for cover -- right into a tangle of raspberry canes. It was all I could do not to scream, but I did whine a bit, which was a mistake because she thought I was a cat. She hollered something nasty and began throwing rocks -- beaned me right in the head. I still have the bruise -- and a lot of scratches. I lay there for three hours waiting for her to go back to bed so that I could go home. And if that wasn't enough, next morning I discovered two more ^&^$% zucchini in my own garden.

That evening I almost bumped into Shirl as she was coming around the corner carrying a zucchini as usual. I had my little red wagon and was hauling the ones she'd left in my yard the previous night. As we passed, we both smiled and said hello. I don't know where she was headed, but it wasn't my yard because I'd bolted the gate and, as a deterrent, floodlit the veggie garden. I didn't go anywhere near her backyard; getting beaned once is enough, but her car was parked in the driveway -- locked, of course. Actually, it's not a car it's a huge 4x4 with real big wheels -- that's all I'm saying.

From the Diary of a Mad Gardener -- see Amazon

 

The Garden of the Future

Tired of mowing the lawn or watering the flowers . . . had enough of watching impatiens succumb to frost? Help, whether you want it or not, is on its way by means of genetically modified plants. There is strong resistance worldwide to genetically modified food crops, but if science has its way, GM plants may well gain acceptance by slipping into the garden via the back gate where they'll be welcomed by many gardeners. Could you handle a lawn that rarely needs mowing? How about plants that survive our winter and never need watering in summer? They'll all be an easy sell at the garden centre.

Gardeners have been striving for perfect plants for years, achieving their goals by breeding and hybridizing. Creating new varieties is old hat, but gene manipulation will be a giant leap into a world where rules and expectations have vanished. I suppose in one sense it will encourage more homeowners to take up gardening when all the hard work and chores have been removed, but will it still be gardening?

The benefits will be touted — pollen free plants that will ease life for hay fever sufferers, huge tomatoes, plants that bloom endlessly and never need deadheading, and even designer shrubs in any shade to match the siding on the house. Will we regret not fretting over black spot or panicking over cinch bugs? I doubt it. But there's no reason to believe it will end there.

Who will say no when predatory plants are on offer that chow down on mosquitoes, even hostas that digest slugs for a change? I don't imagine there's anyone who will refuse a plant that when chewed on renders rabbits sterile. This all may sound wonderful, or frightening, but where will the challenge be in gardening? What will be the point? There can hardly be any sense of accomplishment in nurturing plants to fruition when all the potential flaws and possible failures have been genetically removed. What will be the difference between a GM plant and an artificial one?

 

Synthetic grass as a substitute for the staining kind that needs cutting is already being actively marketed for the backyard. Why not simply turn the whole place into a Disney cartoon with plastic plants that sing to us as they sway in the breeze? Gardeners, this could be your nightmare, but too many won't care. What's more, there'll be nothing for me to write about. I'll be out of a job, so please, act now! Protest! Call your MP. Keep GM plants out of the field and out of the garden.

Surely you really don't need a rose without thorns that repels aphids, never gets black spot, and is customized to grow to the height of your very own nose so that you won't have to bend to sniff the fragrance. What's that — where can you buy one? Look around, I'm afraid the future is rushing to keep up.

It's Dirty Work

It’s all hard, dirty work, battling insects, diagnosing diseases, dealing with erratic weather, and chasing critters. That’s what gardening must seem like to those without a hint of digital green, so I suppose it’s no surprise when someone tells me they just don’t get it. Like many who feel that way, they like a garden to look nice, in a vague sort of way — mainly tidy, I guess, but that’s as far as it goes.

So what is the attraction? I have a hard time explaining. I try the whole being connected with nature thing, hands in the soil feeling the energy of the earth beneath, yet the thought of dirty hands elicits only a frown.

But what about a beautifully landscaped garden that incorporates all the features that are designed to appeal to one’s sense of aesthetics — the winding pathways, subtly balanced colours, sculpted trees and shrubs mirrored in still pools? Makes it hard to hang out washing, they say, not that many still do.

Consider the fragrances that waft across the patio on a warm summer evening. People spend a fortune on being fragrant, but are not heavenly scents produced in a garden equally attractive? No, I suppose a spray can is more reliable and convenient, even if it is filled with questionable chemicals. And yes, for some, a steak sizzling on the barbecue trumps lavender any day.

Then what about the salad that goes with the steak; surely there’s nothing finer than a freshly picked tomato? Red and round, they’re all the same, says the one with dead taste buds.

See what I’m up against? But for those who have discovered gardening and the joy it brings, despite the dirty hands and all the challenges a gardener must face, you know it’s all worthwhile. I know I do, for all the reasons above, and more. I enjoy all aspects, but one in particular always inspires me and that’s the art. Not the art of design, at least not the gardener’s, but that of plants and flowers.

To stop and smell the roses is as relevant as ever, but when I remember to slow down and actually look at things closely, intensely, there’s a whole world of artistry that isn’t immediately apparent, especially if the bifocals are sitting in the house.

This is when I recall my favourite garden quote by Sally Carrighar, one I should inscribe on the fence as a reminder: “The important thing is to know this flower, look at its colour until its blueness becomes as real as a keynote of music”. To this I’d add a reminder to observe artful intricacy of design.

There are many reasons for the variety of colours and forms taken by flowers and foliage, though I doubt any were originally designed to look appealing to a human perspective — insects mainly — yet we are the beneficiaries of these amazing works of art, many of which inspired the great masters.

Take a closer look at some of the flowers in your garden and you’ll be endlessly fascinated. Take the African daisy, or Osteospermum. It’s a genus of annual plants popular in bedding schemes and there are numerous hybrids and cultivars in a wide range of lively colours. Sun lovers and easy to grow, I have them in flower beds and in containers.

Most are daisy-like, some double, but one in particular always catches my eye thanks to the unique design of its petals. They radiate out in a perfect circle, each one resembling a tiny spoon. I stop, I look, I smile, then I shake my head at this miniature work of art. It’s just one of the reasons to “get” gardening.