Almost as Prolific as Poinsettias

I’ve not heard any mention of Lilium longiflorum this week. No signs in stores, not a comment around the water cooler, although the advent of bottled water has curtailed most daily conversations in the workplace. No wonder everyone is on Facebook. Stop drinking alone, I say. Talk to people.

I digress. Lilium longiflorum is everywhere, but no one calls it that, and rightly so or it might not sell as well as it does. Besides, speaking in botanical terms does tend to disperse groups rather quickly.

Lilium longiflorum is the Easter lily and it’s everywhere. The plant became associated with Easter a little over a hundred years ago after a Ms. Thomas Sargent visited Bermuda. 

Apparently she loved the plants so much she stuffed a few bulbs into her luggage before returning to her home in Philadelphia. You could do that then, before border controls, drug enforcement agencies, and homeland security complicated travel.

After a local nurseryman forced the bulbs into bloom in time for Easter, the idea of a plant symbolizing Christ's Resurrection took off. If you’re wondering what Ms. Sargent was doing in Bermuda, and if she was regularly smuggling other items back to the US, I’ve no idea — but I do know why she found lilies growing there.

The plant is native to southern Japan and was living happily on the Ryukyu islands until plant hunter Carl Peter Thunberg sent a few to England in 1819 where it became popular. From there it made its way to Bermuda where the climate suited the plant perfectly — and the British too, no doubt. They began growing the plant as a cash crop and everyone was happy until 1898 when a sneaky virus wiped out bulb production. Japan stepped in, since it was their plant originally, and took over the industry until World War II messed up the market and everything else in the world.

At that point, anyone growing the plants for fun in North America quickly realized they’d been handed an opportunity when the price of bulbs skyrocketed. Bulb growing became centered in an area on the California-Oregon border that today accounts for about 95% of bulb production. They are shipped out to commercial greenhouses across Canada and the US. Because Easter is not a fixed date, these growers must carefully juggle growing conditions to ensure the plants are in bloom for Easter.

And that’s how the Easter lily arrived at your grocery store. All you have to do is care for it for a week or two, and here’s how.

Easter lilies prefer moderately cool temperatures, so place where daytime temperatures are fifteen to eighteen degrees Celsius with slightly cooler night temperatures. They dislike drafts and won’t put up with excess heat or dry air from heating ducts.

They thrive best near a window in bright, indirect natural daylight — not direct sunlight. Water well when the soil surface feels dry, but avoid drenching. If the pot is still wrapped in decorative foil, rip it off as otherwise the plant’s roots are standing in water all the time.

As the flowers mature, remove the yellow anthers before the pollen starts to shed. This prolongs flower life and prevents the pollen from staining the white flowers.

The bulbs can be planted outdoors in spring and grown on; however, they aren’t reliably hardy in this area, but if you want to chance it, plant it about eight to ten centimetres deep in a sheltered, sunny, well-drained corner of your garden and mulch well to keep the soil cool. Mulch even more in fall for winter protection. Happy Easter and long live Lilium longiflorum.

Roses or Wheelbarrows on Valentine's Day

This is it; the big day that allows macho guys to walk around in public carrying bunches of flowers. Guys, you may feel a little self conscious, embarrassed even, but there is a payoff — a happy partner.

This raises a serious question, however, given society has come so far in so many areas. Why is it the majority of flowers are given by men and received by women? I know, the bunch of red roses on Valentine’s Day is traditional, but men in general do seem to have an aversion to flowers. 

There’s no avoiding it; they don’t see an interest in plants, flowers, and gardening as macho enough. Lots of men must garden, of course, but you wouldn't think so judging by the people passing through garden centers and nurseries each spring. I'm often the only guy in the place — buying plants, that is. 

A few are often dragged there reluctantly. I usually spot them kicking the tires on wheelbarrows or browsing the sharp tool display. I’m almost always outnumbered at horticultural society meetings, too, but on the positive side, there’s never a line up for the men’s washroom.

It isn’t easy being a plant and flower lover (hey, I grow potatoes too). For instance, whenever I’m having coffee with a group of guys, the conversation invariable turns to golf, baseball, hockey or cars. Consequently, it never seems quite the right time to say — anyone like to see pictures of my prize peony?

You can hardly blame the guys. Historically, gardening has been women's work — something to keep her busy between fixing meals and doing laundry by hand for a family of fifteen. Man's thing was ploughing fields and felling trees. They're now overloaded with genes that cause them to be drawn to power equipment. Give a guy a garden job and he'll find the horsepower to accomplish it, and with as much noise as possible.

Mowers and blowers, chippers and clippers — that's gardening! They'll spread fertilizer, tune up the tools, hose down the patio, even paint the driveway, but fiddle with flowers — forget it. What's the use of a lawn if it's not big enough to handle a riding mower?

Yet the fundamentals are all there. Despite Red Green, men are slowly changing and are beginning to reveal their nurturing side. They're changing diapers and hugging their kids, even ordering the pizza. With a little re-training they might enjoy tending a garden.

The marketing people could help a lot. If they can convince a whole nation to tune in to hockey in the middle of June, then surely they can turn men on to gardening. Can you imagine the effect of placing a picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger on every packet of seed? What would happen if Tiger Woods were a guest host on a TV gardening show? Call it sexist, but I know that if Beyonce or Jennifer Lawrence were featured alongside flowers in gardening magazines, there are many men who would be browsing them all winter instead of Sports Illustrated.

Just think of it, a world full of gardeners. World leaders getting together for a photo opportunity while turning a compost heap — before retiring to the golf course — then imagine the conversations. I can hear it now: "Oh no, I think I just sliced my ball over the purple buddleia into the periwinkle beneath that Acer negundo." I’m convinced it would help if women began giving flowers to men. They’d at least have to pretend they liked them, and that’s a start. Try it. He might just appreciate a bunch of long stemmed roses – or maybe not.

Big Rocks Rock

I know there are many folks with new homes who are currently surveying their snow covered front yards, looking for inspiration on how to make it attractive enough to fit in with other front yards in the neighborhood. 

It’s almost turned into a competition in some areas. Gone are the days of the foundation planting — half a dozen assorted evergreens sold as, yes, the foundation package. Toss in a few red and white geraniums and a lush lawn that had to be mowed weekly and the landscaping was complete.

In older neighborhoods there are still plenty of examples around of the featured design of the sixties. If maintained, they’re neat and tidy, but when old plantings of junipers, cedars, and a giant maple that was once the size of a drinking straw become overgrown, the result is a front yard with the life sucked out of the soil. 

By summer, the lawn looks as though a herd of caribou passed through, but leaving untouched the gout weed, a plant sold originally as a pretty little ground cover. As many have learned, it’s a plant that even a bulldozer can’t kill.

Of course, this can happen when any garden is neglected, but nowadays, the availability of plant material and the skills of a landscape designer mean it's possible to have a low-maintenance, attractive garden. This, however, too often results in a presentable and oft repeated design that's sure to include at least a pair of whacking big, expensive rocks plunked in the middle of the lawn and surrounded by clumps of ornamental grass with at least one Stella d'Oro day lily -- and a small tree.

Even though design options are unlimited, I do think the big rocks are an overused feature — the foundation collection of the current decade.

On the Seedy Side of Town

I’m browsing through the seed catalogues that have been appearing in my mailbox since December. Apparently, the people at William Dam, McFayden, McKenzie, Stokes, Dominion, OSC, and Veseys all believe I have a greenhouse the size of an arena, or at least a chain of grow ops. 

I usually order a few packets of stuff that look interesting, but I doubt my order would cover the postage on the catalogue; nevertheless, they keep coming. 

I’m always overwhelmed by the range of seeds offered: twenty seven varieties of lettuce or green stuff that looks like lettuce and seventeen types of carrots in all shapes and colours. I don’t have a sophisticated palate, so to me I’m afraid it all tastes like, well, lettuce or carrots; however, I’m happy to try different ones, and besides, some of the more colourful lettuce makes attractive filler in the flowerbed.

As for the flowers, I’m a sucker for anything labelled as new. Is it new, or is it just a new name? The trend of labelling things with something catchy to attract the consumer has spread to plants. Names like Berry Smoothie, Tiki Torch, and Black Negligee make it sound more like an interesting evening than a trip to the garden center. It could be so embarrassing — PA announcing that a gentleman at the cash would like a flat of Black Negligees. That plant is actually a new variety of Actaea simplex. The common name is bugbane, which I admit isn’t likely to get the same attention as lingerie.

The Berry Smoothie is not a refreshing drink; it’s another new Heuchera, while the Tiki Torch is yet another new echinacea. This type of labelling isn’t likely to change as marketers have taken over the industry and if catchy names are what sell, then that’s what we’ll get. In fact, I read in a trade magazine that a garden center in Ireland has abolished the use of botanical terms.

No doubt the idea will spread. Granted, botanical names are challenging, but at least they keep order in the plant world. Poor Carl Linnaeus, father of binomial nomenclature, must be turning in his grave. 

On the other hand, if goofy names get more people out of the mall and into the garden, it may not be a bad thing, except a shopping mall, preferably one that resembles a greenhouse, is more attractive than most gardens at this time of year.

Spring is Coming -- But

I just heard the snowplough go rattling down my street, which means the driveway awaits my attention. There's no denying it, despite a late start, winter is here and the garden season of 2015 is finally over. 

It was the longest I've known in this area. I actually worked in my garden for a full nine months beginning with a little pruning in early March and ending with bulb planting in December.

Now that's something that needs to be changed — the idea that gardening is work. Sure, mowing a lawn or digging a hole might be considered work by some, but really, gardening is anything but work. To me, it's a joy-filled pastime with huge benefits. 

But now, deep in this world of muffled senses, ice scrapers, and salt stained pants, the garden is in hibernation and I'm feeling the withdrawal a little more than usual. Shoveling snow may be good exercise, but I'd much rather be pottering about the back yard.

But what's a poor gardener to do at this time of year? I browse seed catalogues or draw up plans for a landscaping project, I attend garden conferences, read garden books, pamper the philodendron a little more than normal, and on occasion, I'll loiter in the greenhouse at one of our local garden centres, but these things don't quite make up for my garden. 

What's really missing is the spiritual connection I have with the old place, the total stress busting transformation that takes place when I'm surrounded by the life affirming growth of living things.

As calm as he appears, I'm sure my garden Buddha is wishing he was some place else too.

It's a good thing spring is only weeks away -- hah!

Your Garden -- Planned or Evolved?

These are the planning days, planning for the season ahead, but my planning is limited to a few new plants and shifting old ones around. My current garden has been established for almost thirty years and didn’t have much planning in the first place days, more a case of adaptation as requirements changed. The front yard received more consideration, but the back had to evolve somewhat on its own as it passed through a number of unavoidable stages.

It started out as an unfenced, blank palette, then once enclosed by a solid barn board fence it held a small vegetable plot. It was a children's playground with equipment for a while, then after the addition of flowerbeds along the fence, followed by patios, pathways, and a pond, it gradually filled in until the lawn is barely large enough park a wheelbarrow.

The flowerbeds expanded drastically, trees grew, many shrubs and perennials were tried and died over the years. I made many mistakes, but most things have worked out, despite deviations due to the eccentricities of the head gardener, and more than anything, it brought me a lot of joy in the process. Certainly, had I planned it more directly, it would probably look like a different garden, but then any blank space can be designed in a million different ways to create a garden.

If you are in the early stages of developing a garden, either by design, evolution, or adaptation, there are a few things that are best considered that will prove helpful, and at the same time will avoid costly or annoying errors, especially with trees and shrubs.

Choosing the right one for the right location is essential. I have one tree that could have been better placed, and although it's not entirely without merit, I could do without it, but any change now would require drastic action, as in a chainsaw and shrieks of dismay from bystanders.

Apart from felling, trees and large shrubs are like heavy furniture that isn’t easily moved, and unlike a couch they improve with age, making them even harder to part with. And they grow, slowly maybe, but a small suburban yard isn’t the place for a monster maple. Too often, trees are planted much too close to the house where they can interfere with drainage or even cause structural damage, so before planting any tree, seriously consider the location and potential size of that skinny sapling in the pot. For a large tree, four or five meters from a building is a good guideline.

A lot of work has been done in creating smaller, compact trees and shrubs in recent years, which are much more suited to a smaller garden. An advantage of incorporating smaller trees and shrubs into a design means there’s room for more plants. And if you do find you’ve planted one of these smaller shrubs in the wrong place, they’re a lot easier to dig out and move.

Good planning is important, but it’s only part of the final result as a garden is a living thing, never static, and will constantly attempt to thwart the designer. I’ll leave you with the words of  Scottish poet, Rabbie Burns, whose birthday is on the 25th: "The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley". (go often askew).

New or Not

Gardening in Canada, eh? There’s nothing but snow and slush in the garden and I’m going crazy, cooped up, poring over old seed catalogues. I briefly considered opening a sanctuary for abandoned poinsettias, but I’ve seen quite enough of them this past month.

There's an old saying that goes as follows — people want one of two things: something that everyone else has, or something that no one else has. That's why some love to grow petunias, impatiens, or geraniums and little else, while others become obsessed with possessing the rarest plant in the world.

In this consumer culture, we are encouraged, even, dare I say it, conditioned to go for the new and exciting, except the object of our desire only remains something that no one else has for a very short time. Before you know it, it's ubiquitous.

When Joel Roberts Poinsett returned from Mexico in 1828 with Euphorbia pulcherrima and plunked it on his dining room table, I imagine all his dinner guests said, Wow, Joel, that is so cool, man. Where can I get me one? That's why, for the last month, poinsettias have been disrupting dinner table conversation in every home in the country.

What's your choice, commonplace or unique? Are you adventurous or do you tend to stick with the familiar? Are you a golden oldies fan or are you into indie rock? Is it reruns of The Beverly Hillbillies for you or do you prefer to be on the edge of your seat (or rolling on the floor) with the latest episode of (fill in the blank)? There's nothing wrong with the familiar — it's soothing, comforting, and it brings back happy memories. Nostalgia is a powerful emotion.

I like to see familiar plants thriving, yet I'm always keen to find something different, rare, or difficult to grow. I'll often grow something out of pure curiosity.

Rare doesn't necessarily mean hard to grow or difficult to propagate. It could be a newly discovered plant, a new hybrid, or one that's been neglected, almost forgotten until rediscovered and reintroduced, sometimes with a new name. For instance, I saw Maltese Cross (Lychnis chalcedonica) listed in an online catalogue as "New". New? It's been growing in my garden since at least 1992 and elsewhere forever. 

I guess nothing sells better than new and improved, and if it's new to you, it probably doesn't matter, especially when you consider there are three or four hundred thousand plant species to work your way through.

The variety of seed and plants available each spring, however, is largely dependent on what the growers choose to produce and market. If a particular plant has not been popular, then there's the possibility the variety could disappear.

Many new and even improved plants will appear this spring. I’m afraid I don’t need another waving petunia, or a new variety that's a slightly more intense pink than one introduced last year, but as the old familiars sprout in my garden for the umpteenth time, I’ll be out there planting something rare or unique. I'll also be wearing my ancient but comfortable, one of a kind gardening coat, the one no one else could possibly desire.