Getting closer but not there yet

Imagine, lying in bed nice and cozy then suddenly the duvet is whipped off. That’s bad enough, but then the window is thrown wide open and an icy blast flash freezes your tender bits. If this is repeated enough times, those bits will fall off. This is exactly what happens to plants in the garden when the snow melts quickly, as it has this week.

Snow is an insulator, the deeper the better. It keeps plants in a comfortable state of dormancy. Even in winter, soil is giving off heat. Deep down, soil temperature is around 10 degrees or so, summer and winter. Where there’s a deep layer of snow acting as insulation, the surface temperature of the soil may be barely frozen. A study from the University of Delaware showed that for each centimetre of snow cover, the soil temperature will increase by roughly half a degree Celsius. 

Being suddenly exposed to icy blasts won’t bother tough plants, especially native ones, but any tender ones will suffer. And if the icy blasts don’t get them, the soggy soil will. The ground below may remain frozen, but nearer the surface it will be waterlogged. This happens in spring, but the ground soon thaws and normal drainage is resumed. When it happens in the middle of winter, that soggy ground refreezes. Repeat a few times and the expensive, borderline hardy perennial that you planted with care last spring will quietly succumb and no amount of coaxing will revive it. The same conditions can easily cause plants that aren’t well rooted to be heaved out of the ground, dead or alive.

I haven’t reached the point where I’m pushing wheelbarrows full of snow to the backyard to cover tender plants, but I have on occasion tossed a few extra shovelfuls over one or two. I usually mulch around the special ones in fall to help them resist the effect of winter thaws.

There are places in my backyard where the snow drifts deeper, and consequently, plants below are less prone to being prematurely exposed. The same occurs in sheltered areas, usually in shade and out of the wind. It’s worthwhile to note these places as they are in effect, micro-climates. A tender plant may require other specific considerations — soil type, sun or shade etc. — but it might just stand a better chance by being planted where it won’t be subjected to harsh conditions too early in the spring.

It’s also worth noting where the opposite occurs — areas in the garden where wind consistently whips snow away to expose the soil. This happens around the base of shrubs, posts, and against a fence, or building.

The snow is often scoured away along sides of buildings, depending on the prevailing wind, although the soil may be warmed by heat loss from the house, counteracting the effect of the wind. In fact, tender plants often survive well here. For instance, spring bulbs planted close to a sheltered, south facing wall will flower days or even weeks earlier than those in the middle of a garden.  Against a fence there’s no extra heat in the soil and though the fence may cause snow to drift deeply as you may see on a leeward flowerbed, the space closest to the fence is left exposed.

It may not be immediately obvious that a change in the weather is impacting the way a garden will look in summer, but it certainly does. Ahh, summer. Brrr — hang on to that the duvet. Winter isn’t over yet.

Poinsettias sure get around

It wouldn’t be Christmas without them, but I have a hard time deciding if they’re a plant or a Christmas decoration. It’s such a firmly entrenched tradition that I dare say most are purchased with the latter in mind. They’re available in colours and patterns to match any decor. That’s the poinsettia, of course, and the number produced is mind boggling. By Christmas, it’s unlikely anyone indoors in North America is more than a few steps from one.

It all began with a German immigrant to the U.S. in 1900. Although introduced to the country in 1828 by botanist and Ambassador to Mexico, Joel Roberts Poinsett, noted as the 'official discoverer’, it’s thanks to that German farmer, Albert Ecke and his descendants that you’re likely looking at one now.

Intrigued by the poinsettia, Albert began selling the plants at street stands in Los Angeles. His son Paul improved the plants giving them a bushier, more comely appearance, rather than the original weedy plant. It was then grandson Paul Ecke Junior’s turn to advance the association with Christmas.

He did this by sending free plants to television stations where they were displayed on air in the weeks from Thanksgiving to Christmas. He even appeared as a guest on the Tonight Show and on Bob Hope's Christmas specials to promote the plants. By the 1990s, the Ecke family held a virtual monopoly on production.

That changed when university researcher John Dole discovered the secret of how the family developed their unique poinsettias. After Dole published it, competitors began producing plants using low-cost labour in Latin America. The Ecke family business no longer grows poinsettias in the US, but still has a huge market share worldwide.

I don’t remember when I saw my first poinsettia, but it was here in Canada. As a Christmas plant they took off first in North America, but the rest of the world is catching up. Holly and mistletoe have been popular in Europe for centuries. Now, those traditional Christmas plants have been overtaken by the poinsettia. South Africa and Australia are catching up. In Australia, they’re also forced into bloom for Christmas. Given the climate there, they can be happily grown in the garden as well. Wouldn’t that be nice?

As a winter flower, it’s becoming popular in China, Japan, and South Korea where Christmas, at least the commercial aspect, has found a place. Despite different cultural traditions, it comes as a surprise to many travelers to cities in East Asian countries to discover Christmas trees on display in shopping malls, so it’s no wonder the poinsettia is appearing there as well.

In Turkey, much closer to the origin of Christmas, but with no connection, the poinsettia was being cultivated long before Europe was aware of it. It was simply an attractive winter plant that became popular because it was a favourite of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, first president of modern-day Turkey. Hence the poinsettia became known there as Atatürk's Flower, probably the only flower named after a politician, other than Joel Roberts Poinsett.

It can now be found growing wild in Turkey, where the climate, similar in places to Mexico, suits it. In fact, due to its proliferation as a houseplant around the world, where the climate does agree with it, there’s every chance poinsettia could become an invasive plant in the wild. Imagine a world in which there’s one in sight wherever you look — maybe not.

I confess I’m a reluctant admirer of the poinsettia, however, I was amazed the first time I ever saw one growing naturally outdoors. It was over two metres high, clambering up the side of a funeral parlour in Lahaina, Hawaii, and I thought it looked wonderful. Then again, it was January and the soft ocean breezes and ukulele music might have had some effect on my opinion.

Amaryllis -- or is it?

Here’s a little trivia to share, however, it might only elicit a few murmurs of huh, okay, or how about that — if you’re lucky. The only occasion when it might be worth repeating is when a conversation has stalled and is almost beyond recovery. It might help if there’s an amaryllis handy, preferably in bloom, or at least sprouting leaves.

It’s then you could pipe up and say, "Although we might call them amaryllis, the correct name is Hippeastrum, a genus of plants from South America.” Right, you needn’t have bothered because few give a hoot about the botanical nomenclature of plants. Botanists do, although they don’t always agree. They long debated whether the ones we know and love belong in the genus Hippeastrum, a group of plants native to South America, or should they be classed as Amaryllis belladonna, a plant from southern Africa?

The argument went on until 1987 when the 14th International Botanical Congress decided our seasonal houseplant was indeed from the genus Hippeastrum. Fortunately, they agreed amaryllis would be a “conserved name”, meaning it was okay to continue calling it what we always have done.

Regardless, these plants that brighten our homes as days shorten are all the result of hybridisation of Hippeastrum species from Central and South America. They’re selected and bred for flower size and ease of forcing in a gorgeous range of colours that continues to expand.

As for Amaryllis belladonna, the one that caused all the confusion, it’s a plant that you’d more likely see growing outdoors. In more temperate regions around the world, it’s become naturalized. One of the common names for it is naked ladies, so named, not after the band, but because the flowers bloom before the leaves appear, like the fall crocus. It could be grown in our gardens as a summer flowering bulb, that is if you can find it.

I’m afraid my suggestion of a garden plant that you can’t easily buy is about as useful as the bit of trivia, so back to our good old amaryllis. You might be unloading one with the groceries right now as they’re currently being sold everywhere. If you also bought a monster garlic or some kind of exotic root vegetable, make sure it’s the amaryllis that goes in a flowerpot, not the soup pot because it is somewhat toxic to humans, but only if you eat a lot. Dogs and cats, however, can become quite ill if they were to chew on a bulb or eat the leaves.

Now that I’ve sorted out the plant that no one was confused about until I brought it up, here’s how to care for it. Some come ready planted with complete instructions, but if you’re starting out with a bare (don’t mention naked) bulb, choose a pot that is slightly larger than the bulb, preferably a heavier one to avoid tipping.

Don't bury the bulb completely in the pot, just two thirds to three quarters deep leaving the shoulders exposed. A specific potting soil isn’t necessary. Place in a warm, sunny location and water sparingly at first as too much can cause rotting. Gradually water more as the leaves and flower bud appear and fertilize every couple of weeks. To prolong blooming, move it to a still bright but slightly cooler location.

Pinch off the blooms as they fade but keep the leaves growing for as long as possible to replenish the bulb. To get it to flower again next winter, sink the pot in the ground outdoors in spring. Cut off the foliage after it dies back, then leave it be until September.

Repot in fresh soil, bring it indoors, repeat the process as above and you can look forward to it blooming a second time — how about that, huh?

 

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.

A tale for Halloween

 

Justicia Carnea

Grow pineapples in Scotland? I don’t know if they ever did but the possibility popped up when I read of Scottish horticulturalist Sir James Justice. He was a noted figure in Scottish gardening in the early eighteenth century. He authored successful books on the topic, and when explorers began returning with newly discovered plants, he had to have them. An obsessive gardener, he spent so much money on these new species, and on botanical experiments, that he almost went broke.

One of his experiments was rumoured to be a pineapple stove, a means of heating the soil to grow pineapples in a cold climate. His idea didn’t progress, but in the late nineteenth century pineapples were actually grown in cold frames on heated soil.

 Unfortunately, Sir James put his pastime and his profession before his family which contributed to the failure of his marriage. He was also expelled from the Fellowship of the Royal Society after sinking too much of their money into greenhouses and soil mixtures.

 And yet, though not a household name, he lives on in the world of botany. He was honoured when a complete genus of plants was named Justicia, and there are over seventy species in the Justicia genus, so well done, Jim.

 These plants are native to tropical and warm temperate zones around the world,including Brazil, where they grow in the Mata Atlântica, the Atlantic Forest ecoregion. Although termed an eco region, 90% of the original area has sadly been deforested.

 It’s where Justicia carnea, the plant now growing in the corner of my garden originated, except it came from a local garden centre. This plant is an evergreen shrub with large, dark green leaves and gorgeous plumed flowers. It’s unlikely to grow to its maximum height of five feet (1.5 metres) in my garden. It’s only a couple of feet high, and that’s because I’ve dug it out and stored it each fall. I guess I can say I’m endeavoring to save an endangered species. It is a perennial in Brazil, and must be a beautiful sight in the wild, or cultivated in someone’s front yard in Rio.

 This is the third summer in my garden and it’s near the top of my everchanging favourite plants list. The leaves drop when I store it in a dormant state, but it would retain them like other tropical plants if it were in a conservatory — Justicia carnea is sometimes sold as a decorative house plant.

 

It’s those distinctive blooms that make it a hit. They’re hand sized — okay, small hands. The petals are tubular and as the flower opens further, it shows why it has the common name Brazilian Plume, or flamingo flower. I’d call it rose pink, but then shades of pink can be subjective. I guess you don’t need me to point out that carnea, the species name is from Latin for flesh coloured.

There is a pure white variety named Alba, which I’ve also grown. It didn’t overwinter successfully, probably because it wasn’t quite mature enough. I have more success with shrubby plants when they’ve developed woody stems.

Regardless, my current Justicia is a beauty, and I’ve planted it in the perfect place because it’s grown so well this year. It’s in my Brazilian rainforest, that is, a corner of my shady side yard where the soil is rich with organic matter and moist like a damp sponge.

Although old Jim had this genus named after him, he never did travel to the rain forests of Brazil. I’m not sure he ever left Scotland, so perhaps he was honoured for his work on those mysterious pineapple stoves.