Not so Mellow Yellow

It must have been the yellow rose I’d been examining, and then the yellow purslane, followed by a glance at the yellow lilies, because as I pottered about the garden the other day, I found myself singing the words to Mellow Yellow (Donovan from way back). I should point out that I don’t really sing — I simply know the first line to a million songs. Even then, anyone in range would assume they were hearing a coughing goat.

Regardless, as I was pottering and singing, and feeling mellow, it occurred to me that although yellow might be mellow, it sure isn’t when you discover the leaves on a plant have turned that colour overnight. One day they’re a lovely, rich green then one sleep later the jaundice has set in. That’s when the singing stops. In my case it was the lower leaves on a tomato plant in a container on the deck that were fading fast, but why?

I had moved the container the day before and may inadvertently have caused physical damage, but a close examination didn’t reveal any broken stems. Had it only been the odd leaf, I wouldn’t have been concerned, but something was obviously wrong. Yellowing leaves, also known as chlorosis, is a symptom of trouble on any plant, but what was the reason?

As far as tomatoes go, it could be a viral, fungal, or bacterial disease; insect damage, lack of nutrients, lack of water, too much water, sunburn, or possibly, though perhaps not likely, deep rooted psychological problems. The list of possible reasons is so long it really needs a House (popular show) in the garden when it comes to diagnosing a specific cause.

 

The tomatoes in my raised beds were doing fine; it was just the one container plant that was suffering. I checked over and under the leaves for insects or insect eggs and found nothing, and besides, the problem was spreading upwards from the lower leaves, which made insects the less likely culprit. There were no spots, irregular markings or leaf curling to indicate a disease, so that left an environmental or nutritional reason. I doubted the latter as the plant was in good soil, the same soil as other plants, none of which were suffering.

So was it environmental, specifically the weather, more specifically rain, and lots of it? I’ve been rejoicing in the regular rainfalls we’ve had this spring, but too much and trouble can arise here and there, particularly where there’s poor drainage.

This, I believe was the problem. Because the container was sitting tightly on the deck, the drainage holes were sealed, and with excessive rain this resulted in waterlogged soil. I’ve since set the pot on three or four pebbles (my own advice that I sometimes forget to follow), and I also took a thin twig and carefully poked a few holes into the soil. This improved drainage considerably. I can’t do much about the yellow leaves, other than pull them off, but there shouldn’t be more. Meanwhile, there are lots of tomatoes forming on the plant.

It isn’t easy to diagnose plant problems. If an insect pest is the culprit, they’re usually a little easier to spot, but diseases and ailments caused by nutritional deficiencies are harder to identify. As in humans, prevention is the best policy when it comes to good health. Think of plants as people. Give them a healthy balanced diet, sufficient clean water, and plenty of fresh air. Exercise is essential too, but don’t force a workout on your plants, just spend some mellow time with them.  

Pinch that sucker -- or not

They say there’s a sucker born every minute and it sure seems that way on tomato plants, except they’re not suckers, they’re branches. They're the new growth that sprouts at the intersection of a branch and the main stem of a tomato plant, and the long-standing advice has been to remove them by pruning or pinching them out.

To not do so is at your peril because it’s believed suckers steal energy from the plant. At least that’s the belief, except it’s not so. It’s one of those things that’s been done by gardeners forever because someone, somewhere, thought it was a good idea and no one thought to question it.

What is a sucker? On a tree, it refers to those fresh shoots that appear at the base of a tree. On a tomato plant, there are none. What are referred to as suckers are simply secondary branches, and with their leaves they contribute energy to the plant rather than steal it. These secondary branches will also develop flowers and fruit

So why have gardeners been removing them? First, we have to understand the two main types of tomato plants, determinates and indeterminates. Determinates were initially bred for commercial growers. This type grows only to a limited size and the fruit ripens more or less at the same time, making it much easier for mechanical harvesting. When grown as a large-scale commercial crop, determinate plants are not staked or supported, and you can be sure no one roams thousands of acres of fields, pinching off anything in sight that looks like a so-called sucker.

These smaller, bushier plants are suitable for the home gardener with limited space as they can be easily supported if need be with tomato cages, in ground or in a planter, so why bother with pinching off suckers if the commercial growers don’t bother — I’m getting to it . . .

Prior to the development of determinate varieties, most of the plants gardeners were growing in backyards in the old days were indeterminate plants. We still grow them, and many are heirloom varieties. They’re called indeterminates because they don’t stop growing. Tomato plants are vines and will grow that way when allowed, and for as long as conditions are suitable.

Indeterminates are also the type most often grown as hot house tomatoes in commercial greenhouses. There, they are allowed to grow and produce fruit throughout the season, ensuring a continuous supply for the market. In greenhouse production, the lower leaves are sometimes removed, mainly for hygiene purposes as disease can strike where the humidity is highest. Otherwise the vines are allowed to grow naturally and become a jungle of hanging fruit.

In the backyard, however, where the season is shorter, indeterminates won’t reach the size of the greenhouse plants, but they do need serious staking, with a large cage or strong stakes. And this is where the reason for pinching out the “suckers” probably began. With secondary branches shooting off in all directions, there’d be a need for even more support. By restricting the plant to a main stem, it made sense and was much easier to train the plant. Consequently, the habit of sucker pinching took off and it continues today.

If you need to keep your indeterminate plants under control, go ahead and remove any secondary branches that aren’t required, but don’t feel it’s essential to remove them all. Some like to remove lower branches to improve airflow or keep leaves off the soil. Otherwise, the question is, does it really make any difference?

The answer is yes — sort of. If you leave the secondary stems on the plant, you’ll likely harvest far more tomatoes than you would if you removed them, except they might be a tad smaller than the ones from a plant that had the "suckers" removed.

So there you have it, to pinch or not to pinch the suckers? The choice is yours. You’ll still get tomatoes.

Twenty-five years already

 It was late March in 2001 when I received a phone call asking if I’d like to be the weekly garden columnist for the Record. I was already writing and had been gardening since childhood, helping my dad in his garden. Then as a teenager I had my first summer job as a “gardener’s boy” at the big house in the village where I became a highly trained weed puller. You can imagine my joy when I bought my first home and was finally able to pull my very own weeds.

Of course, I said yes to the columnist offer and then must have spent two weeks writing my first submission. In that first column I told how I would be sharing my triumphs and my failures while attempting to be informative and entertaining for both the experienced and the novice gardener. I did note how gardening and laughter are two of the finest ways to promote good health and a sense of well-being, and that’s the reason for the questionable quips and pathetic puns that sometimes find their way into my column. As for the good health benefits, medical establishments are now coming around to the idea of prescribing a connection with nature as a useful therapy for both physical and mental health.

So, armed with my trust Royal Horticultural Society Encyclopedia and numerous gardening books, I offered the information to support my weekly missives. I received letters occasionally but email soon began to take over and I was able to quickly answer questions from readers. Today I receive few as the countless sources online are available at a couple of clicks, and smart phones can quickly identify plants and deliver information — although not always accurately.

Now, AI is providing answers on anything it is asked, but so far it hasn’t helped to plant a tree. Social media also has a role in providing advice, swamping us with memes, how to videos, and masses of misinformation — selling seeds for amazing plants that don’t exist.

Meanwhile, over the years, gardens have changed. Summertime back then still meant the hissing of summer lawns (thanks Joni) without a thought of water conservation. Although many grew vegetables in the back yard, front yards offered limited appeal. Sure, the old style was neat and tidy, and lawns did do a fine job of keeping the dust down, but it was hardly an incentive to stroll the neighbourhood.

That changed thanks in part to the successful Communities in Bloom program that encouraged front yard competitions. This meant more flowering plants and shrubs going in. And finding them wasn’t that difficult when we already had a small number of reliable, well-established nurseries in the area. Then the available options increased yearly as grocery stores jumped into the market, followed by big box stores. In many cases, plants have become just another prepackaged, retail item, while lacking the inviting ambience of a traditional greenhouse with knowledgeable staff.

The range of plants has increased with ever more varieties each year, always touted as new and improved, and some are. But missing for too long was little mention of native or invasive plants, something that gardeners today are becoming more aware of when making choices about what they plant in their gardens to support the wildlife and the environment.

One of the biggest, positive changes took place in 2009 when The Province of Ontario enacted the cosmetic pesticide act. The days of tanker trucks roaming neighbourhoods spraying everything in sight to control insects or kill weeds ended. It didn’t affect me as I’d always avoided using any pesticides in my garden. Now we’re encouraging pollinating insects in our gardens and we’ve become more accepting of dandelions in lawns.

One thing that hasn’t changed is my approach to gardening. I wrote back in 2001 that I grow plants for a variety of reasons: to feed the body and to nourish the soul, for novelty and nostalgia, to challenge the elements and often my patience, but mostly it’s for the joy in seeing them flourish. That hasn’t changed. Always present, away from a rapidly changing world, is that joy that comes from tending plants in our gardens, a place of fantasy filled with a world of surprises. 

I’m still in the garden, recording it weekly, and as I often tell my children, you’ll know I’ve been gardening too long when what’s being planted is me.

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?

It’s a Numbers Game

Fertilizer is confusing, and no wonder. Shelves are stacked with more types of fertilizer than supplements in a health food store. All are in brightly coloured packaging adorned with pictures of gorgeous flowering plants and unblemished vegetables. 

There are fertilizers for tomatoes, ones for roses, another for perennials and so on. All you need to do is match the plant to the fertilizer, right? It couldn’t be easier, except if you grow roses, tomatoes, and dozens of other types of plants, you’ll soon have a full shopping cart. The truth is, you could get by with only one type of commercial fertilizer, or even none if it’s for the garden. By using compost and mulch there, you’d still be fertilizing, but as nature does it.

You’ll note packages of fertilizer always have three numbers. These represent the three main nutrients plants require — nitrogen, phosphorous, and potassium, noted as N-P-K. If the K is throwing you off, that’s because it comes from the scientific term, kalium. These numbers indicate the percentages of each element in the package or bottle. 10-15-10 means it contains 10% nitrogen, 15% phosphorus, and 10% potassium.

You might be wondering why there are so many different proportions listed, and why manufactures can’t agree on those proportions. Next time you’re shopping for fertilizer, ignore the glossy images that were shot in a studio and compare those numbers.

You’ll immediately see they differ from brand to brand even though they’re specified for the same type of plant. I’ve seen brands of fertilizer formulated for tomatoes with the numbers 6-12-12, 4-6-8, 8-24-8, and 18-18-21. No wonder the consumer is confused.

Now you might be wondering how they came up with the numbers in the first place. When plants were first analyzed, it was found they contained different proportions of these three nutrients. It was then assumed that each type of plant required fertilizer in the same proportion, except plants don’t use nutrients the same way at the same time as they’re growing. They take up what they need from the soil when they need it.

It’s much like going to the grocery store when you’re out of milk, butter, or eggs. You buy what you need rather than stuffing the refrigerator. A balanced fertilizer, that is one with equal percentages, say 5-5-5 or 10-10-10, is fine in most situations, but by juggling the numbers manufacturers were able to make their products appear unique. And that’s when marketing with numbers began. But do you really need all that fertilizer? If you’re growing in pots and planters, indoors or out, yes you will need it, as most soil-less mediums have little or no nutrients, unlike real soil.

In the garden it’s a different matter. Remember that middle number, the one representing the phosphorus percentage? The soil in this area began with a limestone base, and as it degraded over time we were left with plenty of phosphorous in the soil. Garden soil doesn’t need any extra. In fact, so much has been added waterways are being polluted by it. 

As for the last number representing potassium, it’s only likely to be deficient in light, sandy soils, not in the typical clay soils we have in our gardens. This leaves nitrogen, the first of the trio. Nitrogen does not stick around in soil, which is why we’re forever fertilizing lawns. By adding compost and mulch, nitrogen and other nutrients are returned to the soil as the organic material is broken down. However, it takes time for organic material to be broken down to the point where it can be used by plants. At the molecular level, the nutrients from commercial fertilizer and organic matter are identical. 

Bottom line: If your plants are growing poorly, fertilizer is rarely the solution, and too much can be deadly.Your pots and planters will need it, so use the fertilizer of your choice, ideally, one with a ratio corresponding to 3-1-2 (24-8-16 or 12-4-8, for instance). Also look for additional micro-nutrients that are usually found in the fine print of contents.

Finally, do heed the directions. Like soap powder in the washing machine, more is not better. 

Home, home on the range

Echinacea purpurea is the familiar coneflower, and I have many, a whole flowerbed of them. Echinacea is from the Greek echinos meaning hedgehog or sea-urchin, referring to the spiny cone, while purpurea is Latin for purple-red, the familiar colour.

Mixed in the flowerbed are a few other colours from a pack of seeds called 'Cheyenne Spirit' that were said to reflect the colours of the western plains. Some were yellow, others orange, and even red, but over the years, a number of these hybrids have reverted to the standard colour. Regardless, the bed in summer is always full of bees, butterflies, and random nectar slurpers, and in fall, goldfinches dart in to ransack the seed heads.

Echinacea purpurea is considered by some sources to be native to Ontario. Others call it a near native because it is a plant of the Northeastern US, but then plants don’t respect borders, so call it native if you like.

There is another species of echinacea that is thoroughly native. Echinacea pallida, with the common name of pale purple coneflower, and it is certainly paler than the other. It grows wild from as far south as Texas and up through Ontario. It’s a prairie plant and prairies in the province aren’t what they used to be. A mix of grasses, herbaceous plants and shrubs rather than trees, prairie landscapes were once widespread in the far southwest of Ontario, primarily around Essex and Kent counties.

There are still small areas scattered about, including part of High Park in Toronto, but they’re now rare in Ontario. The loss of prairie habitat has meant a loss of the flora and fauna that were associated with them. My garden hardly resembles a prairie but my pale purple coneflower is happy to live there.

At first sight, someone might think pallida is simply an odd looking echinacea because it looks a little different from other coneflowers. It has the same spiny cone, and the flowers are borne on rigid stems to as much as a metre high, but the petals, rather than closely linked and splayed out and down, are narrow and clearly separated. They droop, almost vertically, giving them a carefree look. And I must confess, they are a slightly paler purple than the old standards. The leaves are different, too, narrower without toothed edges, and a darker green.

It isn’t bright and colourful like the many hybrids. Some that were developed were over the top, literally, with double decker flower heads, or less prominent cones. I tried those novelties years ago but they didn’t last. I think pallida has a more graceful look about it, so I’m growing it where its subtle features and colour can be appreciated.

Like Echinacea purpurea, pallida will readily self-seed, and left to proliferate could fill a garden, and then maybe small prairies could be restored in urban settings. I’m not sure my mixed flowerbed of coneflowers qualifies as a mini prairie, but it is doing its best.

All warmed up and ready to plant?

This has been an ideal year for spring flowers; the tulips and daffodils have never looked so good for so long. This may be the traditional May 24 planting weekend, but those cool nights ahead mean don't rush to plant tender annuals -- maybe perennials.  If you find the garden centres busy, and you will, don’t worry that you’re going to miss the planting window. It doesn’t close right after this weekend.

Way back when most plants came in cell packs (they’re still around) grown by small local nurseries, there was always an urgency to finish planting as soon as possible, even though they wouldn’t budge if the soil hadn’t warmed up, although cool season vegetables were the exception.

With a trend towards larger, more mature ornamental plants in individual pots, timing is less critical. These plants are well rooted, and it isn’t essential that they have to be planted this weekend. With a little extended care to keep them healthy, they can be planted well into June or even through summer. If it turns out to be hotter and drier than a summer day in Death Valley, they will need extra attention. The important thing is to not let the soil completely dry out after they’re in the ground or in a planter.

To protect plants from too much sun, I’ve used an old umbrella on occasion to provide some needed shade, but only for something special I’ve been nurturing for months. In the vegetable garden, a floating row cover can help protect those cool season plants like lettuce and spinach.

Also known as garden fabric, a floating row cover is lightweight, thin, and white. Typically made from a synthetic material that doesn’t absorb moisture, it still allows rainwater to pass through while reducing the amount of sunlight. Since it’s lightweight, plants continue to grow beneath it, hence the name. These covers also keep out insect pests, but they should be opened for plants that need to be pollinated.

If you do use a floating cover, be sure to anchor the edges or it will be floating a lot further than planned when the wind comes up. It can be used again in fall to extend the season by providing frost protection.

Whether you plant this weekend or later, one thing that will help your flowers and vegetable
considerably when the sun is beating down, is mulch. In nature, there’s almost always some kind of protection on the surface of the soil. In woodland it’s a layer of leaves, and on meadows it’s the decaying plants. Back in the 1930s, when vast expanses of soil on the southern plains of the US and the Canadian prairies were exposed for agriculture, the devastating dust bowl was the result.

Fortunately, we’re not in Kansas, Dorothy, but adding a layer of mulch on your vegetable garden or flowerbeds will help the soil retain moisture, and it will keep weeds down. Over the years I’ve used a variety of organic materials: manure, mushroom compost, wood chips, straw, or shredded bark. But especially leaves; after six months piled at the bottom of the garden, mine are partly decomposed, and they’re so matted together they don’t blow around. I use them everywhere, and the best thing about leaves is that they’re free.

I usually wait a week or two after planting before adding mulch. It allows the soil to warm up and I avoid burying any stray seedlings that I might want to keep. I don’t need mulch among dense plantings as the plants serve the same purpose.

Now, take a last look at those tulips; summer weather is on the way at last and they won’t be around much longer. Watch the weather!

Bluebells

The bells are ringing, and you won’t hear a sound, but the fragrance will be there to enjoy, and the colour, well the colour. Blue of course, bluebells. I’m waxing nostalgic here thinking of the ancient woodlands of England where I grew up. In spring they’re awash with the much-loved, nodding heads of the bluebell that rise above the floppy, strap-like foliage. They’re an incredible wildflower spectacle, millions of them carpeting the woods with a violet glow. As children we’d always visit the woods to pick a few to display and enjoy the fragrance at home. The fragrance is redolent of hyacinths but not as strong.

I should really call it the British bluebell rather than English as they grow elsewhere in the British Isles, including Scotland where there’s another plant called bluebell, but that one doesn’t flower until summer. Known as the harebell in England, Campanula rotundifolia is called the bluebell of Scotland. It’s also a pretty plant with bell-shaped flowers that are a paler violet-blue.

The botanical name of the English bluebell is Hyacinthoides non-scripta,
which sounds like something you’d pick up at the pharmacy. Hyacinthoides is from Prince Hyacinthus of Greek myth. Non-scripta means unlettered to distinguish the bluebell from the similar-looking hyacinth. It’s often been called wild hyacinth as it does have the same strap-like foliage and it also grows from a bulb. Each one produces a single stem that droops with the nodding, bell-shaped fragrant flowers.

It is native to western Europe but grows especially well in the UK where cooler conditions are most suitable. It’s a protected species there, and yet it is under threat, not from the usual suspect — loss of habitat, which it is, but from a family member, the Spanish bluebell (Hyacinthoides hispanica). The Spanish bluebell is similar in appearance except the stems are more upright with flowers all around the stem, rather than drooping from one side like the English bluebell, and unlike the English, the flowers of the Spanish bluebell have no fragrance.

A more vigorous plant, it was introduced into the UK by the Victorians as a garden plant, only to escape into the wild and crossbreed with the native species, resulting in a hybrid, potentially out-competing the native.

Lovely as they are, both the Spanish and British bluebells species can become, if not invasive, aggressive in areas where they’ve been introduced. Because of a similar climate on the west coast, they spread easily in Vancouver gardens, and even here in Ontario it has been noted as potentially invasive.

They grow well enough in Ontario gardens hardy to zone five, and I have had a well-behaved clump in my garden that hasn’t budged from where I planted it. Still, it is important to keep an eye on non-native plants.

However, we have no need of those other bluebells because we have our own unrelated native one, Mertensia virginica. The common name is Virginia bluebells, a member of the borage family. It grows in rich, moist woodland from Georgia in the southern US and north to Quebec, here in Ontario, and in my garden.

It is listed as an edible plant, including the flowers, and it has many uses in traditional medicine of Indigenous peoples, including tuberculosis treatment, as a remedy for whooping cough, and even as an antidote for treating poison. If under the weather, it would have been given as a tonic made from this plant.

They might have their own bluebells in the UK, but they also like our Virginia bluebells enough that they’re a popular garden plant there. The Royal Horticultural Society has even given Mertensia virginica the Award of Garden Merit.

Blue, blue my world is blue . . .

No Mow May?

Anyone who has cultured a completely weed free lawn won't be too invested in the idea. Besides, leave a weed free lawn to continue growing won’t help anything, other than produce cattle fodder, and when the grass is a foot high, possibly harbouring those nasty tics, it will need a brush cutter or that scythe to cut it down. Meanwhile kids and dogs will have to play in the street and the family spring barbecue will have to be cancelled.

As for an already weed filled lawn, if the owner cared, it will grow tall as well, except, being filled with weeds, there might be a crop of flowers for the benefit of wildlife. But will there? Maybe a little if clover is flowering, but it’s more likely to be non-native plants like creeping Charlie and dandelions that have already taken over.

But wait, according to another popular internet meme, aren’t dandelions an early source of food for bees, and we should let them grow. It’s not as simple as that. Despite valid concerns about bees having pollen and nectar available, hungry bees swarming around dandelions are a rare sight, and if they do attract a few visitors, it’s more than likely they’re non-native honeybees.

Dandelions do offer a good source of nectar but the pollen isn’t as nutritious as other sources. The smart bees are in the trees, especially fruit trees which bloom around the same time as dandelions. I don’t know if anyone has noticed, but even if bees were interested in dandelions, there are millions, if not billions of the yellow beauties around any city. They’re growing well on playing fields, boulevards, and lots of backyards. There’s plenty to go around for any bee that fancies them, so I wouldn’t worry about mowing them or not.

For anyone who wants to help bees and other wildlife (except tulip ravishing rabbits) there are better ways than not mowing in May. Plant fruit trees, even ornamental ones, or add a flowerbed filled with early blooming spring flowers.

A fence to fence, bright yellow yard might be better than nothing for bees, but not nearly as good as a garden filled with a range of plants. And the place will look a lot better than a bright yellow shag carpet.

A Pretty Little Menace

They’re a beautiful sight and can be seen each spring when they turn a green lawn blue for a week or so, usually in April. But is that a good thing? The flower responsible for this transformation is scilla, sometimes called squill, and confusion exists because it could be due to two different plants. The difference isn’t obvious because the small flowers are usually admired from a distance otherwise you might have to flop down on your knees for a closer look. Both plants have similar strap-like leaves and grow from bulbs, reaching only ten to 20 centimetres (four to eight inches) tall.

The blue flowers that you might have seen on your morning walk are most likely either Scilla siberica or a species of chionodoxa, except to cause confusion, chionodoxa has been reassigned as a section now within the scilla genus, so scilla they are.

There are many different species in each genus, but the common ones here are the deep blue Scilla siberica or Chionodoxa luciliae, which can also be pink or white. Even the Royal Horticultural Society states there is some debate over which species are commonly grown in gardens, at least in the UK where it has naturalized, at the expense of other plants. Even so, the RHA have given three species of scilla their prestigious Award of Garden Merit.

Botanical nomenclature aside, I’ll refer to them here on under the original names or we’ll all get confused. First, Scilla siberica which, despite the name did not originate in Siberia, but southwestern Russia, across the Caucasus and over to Türkiye, the new official name for Turkey — more confusion. Chionodoxa originated further south than scilla, on the islands of the eastern Mediterranean and over to Türkiye.

Scilla siberica is the one with only a few dark blue flowers on each stem. They droop similar to English bluebells, but in full sun the flowers sometimes turn slightly upwards. If you do get down on your knees for a closer look, you’ll spot a key difference between the two.

The anthers on scilla are almost black and protrude a little beyond the blue petals, while the anthers on the upward facing, star-shaped flowers of Chionodoxa luciliae are compact and white. Chionodoxa also produces more flowers on each stem, up to sixteen, though the plant itself is a little stunted compared to scilla. The typical flowers are a paler blue with a white centre, but there are also varieties in pink or white. 

Both species were introduced to North America as ornamental garden plants, popular because they’re cold-resistant and they flower early, in some areas as soon as the snow leaves, hence one of the common names for chionodoxa, glory of the snow. They all sprout up in full sun before the trees leaf out, then go dormant for the rest of the year.

When planted in a lawn they vanish with the first mowing. Even in that blue lawn you spotted, a colony might have begun with a few bulbs, planted like crocus, but these plants self-seed profusely and will carpet a lawn and spread into a flower bed or even a roadside given the chance. Mowing as soon as the flowers fade will prevent the seeds from spreading elsewhere, where the plants can become a problem.

That blue carpet of a spring lawn might be the desired effect, but it’s not a valued trait as scilla will also spread into woodland and take over the understory of a forest, impeding the growth of native ephemerals by engulfing them with dense foliage. Pretty they may be, scilla are considered an invasive species in Ontario and they’re toxic to some animals, so new plantings are best avoided.

Award of Merit? Whatever was the Royal Horticultural Society thinking?