Lotsa leaves -- indoors and out.

Leaves are falling in abundance, and not just outdoors. Chances are they’re clogging up the vacuum cleaner in the living room, too. When plants arrive indoors after returning from summer vacation on the deck, we shouldn’t be too surprised if they begin to shed a few leaves.

As days get shorter and light levels fall, it’s a signal to plants to slow down, even stop growing for the winter. Outdoors it happens slowly, but when a plant that spent the summer outdoors is suddenly dragged indoors where light levels are considerably lower, the plant is thinking winter, already? What happened to fall?

Between the shock and the panic it shuts down, stops growing and the leaves begin to fall. Leaves that weren’t healthy in the first place soon turn yellow and drop off. After a week or two the plant adjusts and rests awhile until late winter when it will begin to produce new growth.

Sometimes the plant owner panics as well, immediately reaching for the fertilizer in the mistaken belief the plant is starving to death, except force feeding a plant has the opposite effect. Instead of producing healthy leaves, guess what — they turn yellow. Fertilize only when there is active growth.

Yellowing leaves may be due to disease — bacterial, viral, fungal — and without a thorough examination by a Doctor House houseplant doctor, it can be hard to determine the cause. More than likely, if the plant was reasonably healthy outdoors, it’s less likely disease is the cause. More likely insect pests have hitched a ride indoors.

If left outdoors, most insects quickly succumb to frost, but when transported indoors they think they’re wintering in Florida, and since there’s usually a bit more action happening on a winter vacation, it only takes one pair of amorous bugs to begin producing offspring and soon enough they’re swarming over the plant, sucking the green life out of the leaves.

It’s not always obvious there are bugs on the plant as (a), they are frequently green, making them hard to see, or (b), they’re too small, making them hard to see, or (c) they’re green and small . . .

The usual suspects are aphids or spider mites — or both. The aphids tend to cluster around the stems and at the tips of new growth, if there is any. They are easy to see when clustered together, but by then they’ve already been reproducing like crazy, and worse still, aphids don’t need a mate to start a family.

The other pest, almost invisible to any one over fifty, is the spider mite. They love warm, dry homes, so conditions are perfect for them to start a new family. They can be found mainly on the underside of leaves and look like tiny reddish specks. Here’s where a magnifying glass helps considerably. Look closely and you’ll see that these tiny specks are moving about. They’re not true spiders; in fact, a real spider might keep them in check, but if one also happened to hitch a ride indoors, chances are it was flattened on sight by a half-crazed arachnophobe.

 When bringing plants in for the winter, it’s essential to check thoroughly for hitch hikers. Even then, they can be missed, so give the plants a good soaking with a 40-parts water to one-part natural soap solution — not detergent. Best place to do this is outside or in the sink for small plants, otherwise into the shower with them. Spray every part of the plant — over and under stems, leaves, branches and even the soil surface.

After about fifteen minutes, rinse off the soap. Repeat a week later to be sure you got all the beasts. Oh, and if you have other plants indoors, quarantine the newcomers or you’ll be needing the garden rake indoors.

Shred Those Leaves

It's fall, and once again I have designed and built my very own leaf shredder. This one is the Mark Three model. The Mark One and the Mark Two were failures . . . well, not failures, just a little too risky to operate. Using them could have got me featured in one of those TV shows on extreme sports. This model is much safer.

I first began designing and building leaf shredders about five years ago. The Mark One used an old electric lawn mower that I tried to modify by cutting a hole in the top and mounting it on a wheelbarrow.

The idea was that I'd stuff the leaves through the hole where they'd be finely chopped by the whirling blades below before falling into the barrow for composting. It did work, but only one handful at a time, and after seeing what it did to the wheelbarrow when the mounting came loose I quickly remembered that I had only two hands -- each containing five, very useful, fingers. I junked it; there are some things you don't want to discover when turning compost.

The Mark Two was much more promising; it almost resembled a store-bought shredder. I built it with parts from an old washing machine. I was able to use the drum as a hopper and the motor to drive the shredding rod. With a few modifications to speed up the rotation, the mark two looked as though it might do the trick, but I never did get the chance to toss any leaves into it. As soon as I plugged it in the thing took off down the yard like a Star Wars pill bug battle droid.

What surprised me was the illusion I'd built artificial intelligence into the Mark Two. The way it zeroed in on Mrs. Fellini's cat was astonishing. I didn't even know the cat was skulking around behind the spirea. When the cat leapt the fence in a single bound the shredder immediately changed direction, rolled up its extension cord and unplugged itself.

Fortunately, the length of the cord limited its range otherwise I would have had some explaining to do to Mrs. Fellini. I dismantled it right away before it figured out how to plug itself back in. The last thing I need is a barren wasteland and a leaf shredder thinking it's smarter than I am.

Now I have the Mark Three. I made this one with a large plastic barrel that I'd planned to use for storing rainwater and the motor from a hot tub pump that I decided might be a tad powerful for the pond.

This one is a much simpler design than the Marks One and Two, and I'm sure it will be a winner. All I’ve done is attach the motor to the bottom of the barrel and added legs.

At last I'm ready to shred, and I can't wait. All I have to do now is find enough leaves to begin performance trials. Did I mention it resembles a huge food processor?

It's funny how actions that would normally be considered uneventful can be seriously misunderstood when performed out of sequence. As a gardener/inventor it seemed perfectly logical to me:

             (a). Leaves needed to test out new leaf shredder.

             (b). Collect leaves.

             (c). Leaves have not begun falling yet.

             (d). Leaves grow on trees.

             (e). Collect leaves.

I shouldn't have climbed the tree. All right, it may have appeared a little unusual, but I don't think there was any need for the neighbours to call the emergency response team. It was so embarrassing, and I had a fair bit of explaining to do.

At first I told them I was trying to rescue a cat, but they heard Mrs. Fellini snort when I said it, and when I dropped the bag of leaves they had me. They were all for taking me downtown (Mrs Fellini was yelling encouragement), but I was able to convince them to let me demonstrate my leaf shredder and prove that I wasn't nuts.

Lucky for me it worked perfectly first time. It might have been better if I'd let the leaves dry out a bit first, but it did a terrific job. I flicked on the switch and dumped in the bagful of maple leaves; it pureed the lot in two seconds flat. The emergency guys were so impressed they went and used the ladder truck to collect more leaves.

They all wanted to try my new shredder, and then they had to see what it would do to tomatoes -- cleared out the veggie garden. They were having so much fun I couldn't get rid of them. A couple of them want the plans so that they can build their own. One is into wine making and the other is crazy about pesto.

Funny, in no time at all I went from a code twenty-three to a harmless eccentric to a brilliant inventor. I may have to patent the mark three.

Juggling the juglone

Don’t do it! It’s the worst place to grow plants. The soil is toxic and they’ll all die. If you have ever read or heard stories about walnut trees, especially black walnut which is common around here, that’s the gist of it. But is it true? This popular belief has been widely reported and quoted over the years, often from reliable sources.Consequently, gardeners abhorred the thought of a walnut tree growing anywhere near their gardens. Because the black walnut is prized and much sought after for its beautiful wood, there’re many who would say the trees are worth more dead than alive.

The theory is walnut trees produce a chemical that inhibits the growth of other plants — the term used is allelopathy. The chemical is juglone and is believed to be exuded by the roots of the tree making the soil toxic to many plants. Other parts of the tree, including the leaves, are also said to contain juglone and it’s long been the recommendation that wood chips from a walnut tree should not be used as mulch and the leaves should not be composted.

However, it’s since been revealed that juglone is not initially present in the living tissue of the tree, but a non-toxic precursor called hydrojuglone is and it’s only converted to juglone when in the soil. I’ve composted my share of leaves from black walnut and never had an issue using the compost in my garden.

Supposedly, juglone doesn’t affect all plants. There are long lists available of those that can be grown beneath walnut trees and others that can’t. Tomatoes, it seems, can’t be grown beneath the tree, but onions can. The problem with these surprisingly long lists is they’re apparently based mainly on observation — what’s been seen to be growing well or not, but not necessarily taking into account other factors that can affect growth.

There have been few if any scientific studies that give solid evidence supporting all these plant recommendations and the same goes for the belief that growing anything beneath walnut trees is an actual problem.

The question is, where did this belief arise? We are fortunate in that someone has done the work to find out. Linda Chalker Scott, Associate Professor and Extension Horticulturist at Washington State University has only recently completed a review of all possible material related to the issue and published a fact sheet on it.

Chalker-Scott reveals that back in the 1920s, despite farmers growing crops successfully near walnut trees, the belief took hold. By 1948, the United States Department of Agriculture felt the need to issue a press release assuring the public that there was no need for concern and that the trees were harmless to other crops, but still the belief persisted. Then, in 1951, experimental field testing began and guess what — little to no adverse effects were evident.

Some laboratory testing was done using juglone directly on seeds and seedlings and there appeared to be negative effects, yet the results were inconsistent. As with any laboratory testing, it doesn’t necessarily relate to what occurs in nature. Chalker-Scott concludes that all the scientific evidence for black walnut allelopathy can be traced to two publications, one of which has been withdrawn and another that is non-existent.

So, what is going on under black walnut trees? Ignoring the myth, the answer is probably what goes on under all large trees. The roots of most trees mainly occupy the top couple of feet of the soil and spread far beyond the dripline. Light rain never reaches the ground beneath the canopy and consequently, the tree grabs all the moisture from the soil along with the nutrients. It’s always difficult to grow much under any large tree, although many gardeners have been successful.

As for tomatoes, it’s the one plant that’s said to be a good indicator of the allelopathic effect. They often fail to grow when planted beneath a black walnut tree, but then why would anyone try to grow tomatoes there? It’s about the worst place. Tomatoes need lots of water — none there. They also need good, rich soil — hardly likely. And what tomatoes really need is plenty of sunshine.

Good luck with that in the shade of any tree. Don’t do it.

Read the original work of Linda Chalker-Scott here.

What to do, what to do

Doug Tallamy, American entomologist, ecologist and conservationist recommends that 70% of plants in a garden should be native species to provide a seasonal food source for larval caterpillars, which specific bird species depend upon as they fledge their young. It’s become a popular talking point over the last few years, especially on social media. It’s a worthwhile goal, and I encourage anyone to follow this advice should they wish to do so. He writes also on the importance of pollinating insects.

Much of the current concern about pollinators took off after a report from Germany showed a drastic reduction in insects there. This was picked up by the media and made for alarming headlines — dramatic events are more publishable. Yet unlike Europe where almost all land has been modified for human use, findings indicate that large-scale insect declines across North America remain an open question. There are few studies showing an overall decline, although this doesn’t mean there are not areas where this has occurred.

This raises questions for me about the situation in this area. Prior to a couple of hundred years ago, southern Ontario was heavily forested, then the forests were felled to make way for farmland and much of the natural landscape was lost. Urban growth followed, absorbing swaths of that farmland, then in the decades following World War II, all manner of pesticides became available. They were heavily used in agriculture, by municipalities, and by homeowners.

 This was a time when green lawns ruled and to ensure they stayed that way, they were sprayed heavily with weedkillers — remember the tanker trucks that roamed neighbourhoods leaving a chemical smell in the air? Thankfully, that ended in 2008 with the Ontario pesticide act.

Prior to about thirty years ago, other than grass, homes might have had a small vegetable plot out back with room for a clothesline. In the front yard, most had only what was termed a foundation planting out front, three or four evergreens and limited selection of flowering plants. There were far fewer sources for plants compared to now when big box and grocery stores have become garden centres. Filling the front and back yard with rare and unusual plants would have been seen as radical. This began to change largely due to the Communities in Bloom program starting in 1998, which encouraged front yard plantings, and over the last twenty years interest in growing flowering plants has surged.

 Growing vegetables, too, has become hugely popular. However, backyards are still largely a play area for kids and pets, although many trees and shrubs have been added where none grew before. People build gardens for many reasons, and in an urban environment it isn’t easy to recreate a natural ecosystem where plants and insects have developed a complex web of interrelationships, yet those who opted to plant flower gardens with a wide range of plants have done much to support pollinators. Non-native plants might not cater to all species of insects, but they can provide nectar rich flowers for generalist feeders, and native birds and insects will happily feed on both native and non-native plants. It’s the specialist feeders that are most in need of specific plants that support them, like the monarch butterfly that relies on milkweed.

Planting any kind of garden is a positive thing when one considers what is being done to the planet, especially so as climate change, pesticide use, and loss of greenbelt continue to threaten pollinating insects on a much bigger scale than a simple garden that has long provided habitat where non existed before. So yes, do avoid using invasive, exotic plants, and certainly add more native species to attract pollinators, even 70%, but don’t be afraid to grow what you love, providing it causes no harm to the environment — know your plants.

 It is worth noting that in the US, where the movement is strongest, pesticide use by home gardeners is still permitted. Eighty-five types of pesticide outlawed in other countries are still allowed there.

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.