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.

   

Quis est nomen illius planta?

"Quis est nomen illius planta?" I heard that frequently during the days of my open garden. It wasn’t spoken in Latin, which is just as well as I probably wouldn’t have understood the question anyway. My command of Latin is pathetic. Most often, the plants for which I do know the botanical names are the ones that haven’t been given a common one, at least none that I’m aware of.

One in particular that attracted a lot of attention was a vine on the trellis. It has small, maple-like leaves and sprays of red flowers that turn yellow as they mature. I grew it easily from seed this year and it’s performed rather well. Naturally, the question arose — Quis est nomen illius planta? — about a couple of hundred times. I was happy to answer, but the only name I had for the plant was the botanical name from the seed packet that I had stuck in my back pocket (be prepared).

The plant in question is Ipomoea lobata and it’s a member of the morning glory family, except it doesn’t look anything like a typical morning glory. Hence the Latin, except it made me sound so pretentious. I’ve since learned, however, that it’s also known as firecracker vine or Spanish flag, but since no one else appeared to know it by either of those names, I’m going to make up my own. Henceforth, in my garden, it will be known as the ‘question’ vine.

On the other hand, the true name of certain plants is used more often than the common one, especially if it doesn’t sound too botanical. I was frequently asked about a plant in the perennial bed. It has sword-like leaves and show stopping red flowers. I was happy to reply that the plant was Crocosmia. It’s sometimes called copper tip or falling stars, but those names don’t seem to be in use around here, so I’ll stick to the botanical name.

Crocosmia is a great plant and deserves to be grown more often. There are only a few varieties available, ranging from yellow to red. Cultivars go by the names ‘Lucifer’ (orange-red) ‘Jenny Bloom’ (orange buds open yellow), ‘Meteor’ (yellow tinged with orange), ‘Red King’ (red with orange-yellow center), and ‘Emily Mckenzie’ (orange). ‘Jacanapes’ is red and yellow while ‘Golden Fleece’ is lemon yellow. In a group planting, they’ll pop out flowers for a month or two, and they’re also excellent as a cut flower.

Crocosmia are small corms and are usually sold in time for spring planting. Look for them in bulb catalogues if you don’t spot them at a garden centre. They may not flower the first year, but then they reproduce nicely. Interestingly, they’re not supposed to be hardy in this region, and it’s often suggested they be lifted for the winter, 

yet mine have been coming back year after year without the slightest care. They aren’t too fussy about soil as long as it’s reasonably fertile and well drained.

If you have any doubts about their hardiness, plant them against the house in full to part sun, but I have hundreds of witnesses who can confirm that mine grow just fine in the middle of the garden, and they all know the correct botanical name, should anyone ask.

It's a pleasure to share, to discuss plants, and to answer questions from so many garden lovers, like "What’s the name of that plant?" Why, I frequently replied, it's Anonomenthanum something or other.

It’s a jungle out there with scary creatures if you’re a plant

Echoing through the online world are these words: “What’s eating my plant?” And with the question is usually an image of a leaf riddled with holes, a close-up of a seedling felled like a giant redwood, or tiny stems brutally severed.

There’s no shortage of culprits. Rabbits especially are a menace and the only thing that truly works is a fence around the yard or wire mesh around the plants. It needs to be a couple of feet high and turned outwards at the base in an L shape or buried a few inches. It won’t stop squirrels or chipmunks unless it covers the whole bed. There are countless other suggestions online, but none are guaranteed. Most popular recommendations are blood-meal, soaps, or other pungent things. Animals don’t like strange odours, but they adapt, and what may appear to work for a while doesn’t always last.

The blood-meal can be effective and some swear by it, however, like other deterrents it must be repeated after rain, and too much spread around will upset the nutrient balance in the soil and encourage leafy growth at the expense of flowers or fruit. There are a couple of commercial products, Bobbex and Plantskydd, used for winter protection of shrubs and trees from deer, are a deterrent elsewhere in the garden, although they shouldn’t be sprayed on vegetables. One suggestion to deter critters is to spread human hair about. I can tell, you, I’ve been losing hair in the garden for years without any effect.

Other than damage by chomping animals, most damage goes on at the level where Rick Moranis shrunk the kids. Sometimes evidence of the culprit is obvious, slimy trails left by slugs, or clusters of aphids clinging to new growth — blast aphids off with a hose daily until they’re gone.

From flea beetles to lily beetles and cut worms to earwigs, identifying the specific insect that’s causing damage is key. Holes in leaves will only tell you one that a pest has visited. Like no one in the office will admit to taking the last donut, by the time you spot the damage the pest may well have dined and dashed.

Much damage occurs overnight and that’s the time to observe. You may need to patrol the garden after dark with a flashlight, but let your neighbours know if they’re the suspicious type or you might find yourself in the back of a police cruiser and ranting about bugs won’t get you out.

Once you have identified the pest, you can determine the best means to deal with it, either with a barrier of some form or an insecticidal soap spray. These sprays must contact the insect pest. Please note, they don’t work by blanket spraying the garden. There are far more good bugs than bad ones. When predator insects are wiped out, the bug you’re trying to eliminate thrives. And you’ll be harming valuable pollinators, including bees and butterflies.

Certainly, there are instances where insects will ravage a crop, and that is disappointing, but often the damage is limited or short term, like with the four-lined plant bug. Right now, leaf miners have been busy on my Swiss chard, a problem that can’t be resolved with any spray as they’re within the leaf. It’s visually unattractive, but the chard will soon outgrow the damage and I’ll remove the affected leaves. Growing plants that attract predatory insects on or near the vegetable garden will be helpful, and it’s just as important to know the beneficial insects as well as the baddies.

Are we out of batteries for the flashlight again?

Getting High With Plants

Away from marketing, trends begin simply because people decide that something is a great thing to do. In the world of plants and gardens, there are two that are prominent, and they are both connected to that unfortunately branded group, millennials, that is, those born in the years roughly spanning 1981 to 1996.

By all reports, this group is into plants and gardens in two specific ways — or both. One is the surge in backyard vegetable gardens, simply because they like to feed their young families with their own healthy produce. Wait, haven’t Generation X and baby boomers been doing that for ages? Yes, but the latter are tapering off a little as they reach the age when bodies are creaking as much as an old wheelbarrow. Many of that group are now moving into apartments and condos, leaving their gardens behind.

It’s in those new high-rises that are springing up like — okay, weeds — where the other trend is taking place. That is the growing of houseplants, particularly succulents. Succulents are especially popular because they’re easy to take care of. Little do these people know they’re also the gateway to larger, more exotic houseplants.

Next thing you know, these folks will be wanting to grow plants on their terraces and balconies. I can see it now — small shrubs, trees even, with masses of vines climbing and cascading over their multi-story building, just like at Bosco Verticale, a pair of residential towers in Milan, Italy. Instead of cold steel and glass, greenery flows over the whole exterior surface of the buildings.

But why not here? Sure, Milan has an enviable climate, but we could start with roof gardens. Now I don’t mean green roofs covered mainly in hardy ground covers. They’re fine and have their purpose, but I’m suggesting more. Roofs on these buildings are wasted space when they could be productive. There’s plenty of room for raised beds where the building occupants can grow their fruits and vegetables, or ornamental plants if they wish, maybe even a cutting garden, and plants for pollinators, of course.

But what about a real garden? This isn’t a new concept, and many have been installed. Some years ago in London, England, I ate at a restaurant located on the roof of a six-storey building that looked out on a beautifully landscaped garden. The garden held over seventy mature trees, including oak. It even had a stream and a pond complete with wandering flamingoes. Known as the Derry and Toms Roof Gardens, it was on the roof of the former department store by that name which opened in 1933, when the gardens were first installed.

That may be ambitious, but why not? We’re losing green space, not only because of suburban sprawl, but in our uptowns and downtowns where the word is intensification. In order for this to take place, many new building high-rises are built on land that previously held houses. Gardens at ground level vanished along with the homes. “Paved paradise” anyone?

There is a need for greenery, for people to be able to stay in touch with the natural world, evidenced by the trends above, and countless studies have shown the benefits. It reveals an inherent need to stay connected. For those older baby-boomers living in the same buildings, there’s nothing many would like better than to again have a garden they can tend. They’d be lining up to buy or rent, so what about it, planners, architects, builders, and developers? You can do it. 

Notes on Butterfly Plants

We like to see butterflies in our gardens, that is some butterflies, particularly bright, colorful butterflies like the monarch. It’s the caterpillars that we don’t like, the ones that feed on our plants. Luckily for the monarch, the caterpillar stage only feed on weeds, that is, they feed on milkweed, typically common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca), a plant that’s essential to the survival of the monarch butterfly.

It’s not a plant that’s typically grown in suburban gardens, although it would help reduce the decline of the monarch if there was a milkweed plant in every backyard. Since it’s not considered particularly attractive as an ornamental plant, it’s unlikely to happen, but A. syriaca is only one of a number of milkweed species that appeal to the monarch.

In my garden, I have swamp milkweed, which has narrower leaves than common milkweed and grows to about a meter and a half with lots of pink flowers. This species favours medium to wet soils and is well suited to a rain garden or low area, although it wasn’t troubled by last summer’s long dry spell in my garden.

I grew another milkweed species a couple of years back from seed, Asclepias curassavica, a tropical milkweed commonly known as blood flower. This was a pretty plant with showy red/orange flowers and a nice addition to the garden at the time, but it’s not hardy in this area, dying completely over winter. When grown in warmer regions to the south where it can be invasive, questions have been raised about its impact on the monarch. It can act as a host plant, but it’s believed the growth habit of producing new foliage throughout fall and winter can result in continuous breeding on the same plants, ultimately affecting the natural migration patterns of the monarch. They don’t feel the need to leave for Mexico as they should.

There have been calls for eradication of tropical milkweed, but research is still underway to determine the impact of removing a plant that regardless, does provide essential food. Since tropical milkweed can’t survive beyond fall, it’s presumably an acceptable annual plant for our gardens in the north.

Better still, there is another milkweed species we can grow that will attract and feed monarch butterflies. It’s not a major host plant for the monarch larvae, but the flowers provide essential nectar for the adults and it also attracts other butterflies, hence its common name, butterfly weed (can we stop calling them weeds?).

This species is Asclepius tuberosa and like the tropical milkweed, it has similar orange/red flowers. Better still it is hardy to zone 3, making it tough enough to easily survive winter here. Plant in full sun and it will grow in a bushy shape to about knee height. Once established this plant is drought tolerant thanks to a deep taproot. A deep tap root means it isn’t easily moved, so choose carefully when deciding where to place it. This is such a well-respected plant that the Perennial Plant association has chosen it as the 2017 Perennial Plant of the Year.

If you’d like to learn more about attracting monarchs and other butterflies into your garden, there’s an excellent book by local author Thelma Beaubien. It’s called Gardening for Butterflies: Attracting, rescuing and raising butterflies.

Two Four Time

This is it, the traditional spring planting time in this part of the world, but if you don’t get around to planting because of other exciting two four stuff, don’t worry. There’s plenty of time left for planting.

Once upon a time, most annuals were sold in tiny cell packs and it created an urgency to get them into the garden early to ensure they started growing, even though they wouldn’t budge until the soil warmed up. Now, with a trend towards larger, more mature plants in individual pots, timing is less critical.

Whether you plant this weekend or wait until early June, there is one thing that will help your flowers and vegetables when they have to face blazing hot summer days, and that’s mulch. In nature, there’s always mulch on the surface of the soil, usually in the form of a leafy layer.

Plants expect to be surrounded by mulch; bare soil is not normal. Covering soil conserves moisture, keeps down weeds, and if organic, it slowly adds nutrients to the soil as it breaks down. Over the years, I’ve used a variety of materials as mulch: leaves, manure, mushroom compost, wood chips, straw, shredded bark, and cocoa bean husks.

Anything that covers the soil surface while allowing moisture to penetrate does the trick. I’ll even use clippings from evergreen shrubs, and I always make use of my ornamental grasses crop. It does a fine job in the veggie garden. As they break down, they all help feed the soil, which is so important.

Wood chips or shredded bark are popular, especially on flower beds in front yard gardens. A few bags may be all you need, but if you’re a heavy user, consider ordering in bulk. When spreading mulch from four to eight centimetres deep, which is usually sufficient, a big bag will go a long way.

There has been a concern that as wood based mulches break down, they can deplete the nitrogen in the soil, but this only occurs in the uppermost layer and isn’t as much of a problem as was once believed.

As mulch slowly decomposes, nutrients and organic matter are absorbed, feeding the organisms in the soil. This is a natural process, but it is far more complex than it appears, especially to anyone who dismisses soil as dirt — dirt is what you get on your pants after sitting in soil.

Soil is not inert brown stuff, devoid of life, although it may well be if it’s been regularly doused with chemical fertilizers. It is teaming with an incredible number of life forms, each of which has a role to play. Worms and soil insects are easy to spot, but it’s what we don’t see that’s tremendously important:  microscopic insects, fungi, bacteria (good and bad) all play a role. They form symbiotic relationships with each other and with the roots of plants and trees, processing organic matter and minerals, converting them into nutrients in a form that plants can use.

Healthy soil is essential, the source of the life above ground that we can see. As you plant like crazy over the next few weeks, give a thought to what’s going on below — and spread the mulch.

You don’t need a license to grow trilliums

I can’t say the now defunct design of the new Ontario licence plates concerned me particularly, but it was nice to see the trillium featured on them. I also liked the reference to gardening with the statement that Ontario is a place to grow. The trillium has been Ontario's floral emblem since 1937, and as I’m sure everyone knows, that funny little symbol with three points does represent our provincial flower.

The trillium is also the state wildflower of Ohio, but they don’t honor it the way we do in Ontario. During World War I, the Ottawa Horticultural Society suggested the gentle white trillium should be planted on the graves of Canadian soldiers to signify the homeland left behind, however it was never pursued.

I have a trillium flowering in my garden now, despite suggestions circulating that anyone with a trillium must have plucked it from the wild and in doing so broke the law.

I’m happy to report that I have not, nor am I likely to end up in jail or even be arrested. That’s because it is not against the law to pick or remove trilliums from woodland, unless of course the location is private land. With a slow spring this year, trillium blooms are peaking, or may have passed further south, after lighting up the forest floor. With so many in bloom it’s not surprising that someone is tempted to scoop a few blooms, or even dig up the whole plant.

Although not protected by law perhaps they should be, as should all our precious wildflowers. Picking the trillium for its flower causes damage to the leaves and stems that are essential to future growth. Trilliums don’t transplant at all well from a woodland, and besides harming the plants, it removes the enjoyment for others.

Fortunately, you can grow them in your own garden because they can be purchased from many nurseries that specialize in, and propagate, wildflowers. The trillium you most likely see growing everywhere is Trillium grandiflorum, although according to Ontario Parks, there are another four species.  There’s the red trillium, the painted trillium, the drooping trillium (listed as at risk) and the nodding trillium — I’m not sure I’d be able to tell the difference between the drooping and the nodding.

The red trillium is Trillium erectum, and it’s easy to spot when it pops up in the middle of a patch of white ones. It would even be easy to find one in the dark. Unlike the white variety, which has no fragrance, the red one has the delightful fragrance of day-old roadkill, perfectly designed to attract pollinating flies — and another valuable pollinator plant to add to the garden.

Despite being called the red trillium, the flower has a slightly more burgundy look about it. In fact, deep in the forest there have been reports of ones with slight variations in colour, even orange — I’m still looking. The common name for the red trillium is ‘wake robin’, said to have referred initially to the European robin. Both it and our native robin have similar colouring, and I’m only guessing, but as the breast colour of both birds leans toward orange rather than red, maybe an orange trillium was more common century or so ago.

There is another species of red trillium I’d like to try growing in my garden and that’s Trillium chloropetalum, the giant wake robin, and it’s a beauty, growing as high as forty-five centimetres high (18 inches). Although native to California, it is a zone six plant, making it just about hardy enough to grow here.

Wait, there are more. About fifty other species of trillium have been recorded, mostly in North America, though generally further south. So, do watch out for any unique species, but no picking. Unlike the new license plates, they’re not collectors’ items.