Garden Rant

Rant on the Road

I'll be speaking at Cornell Plantations in Ithaca, NY on Wednesday night, covering the cultural stuff: Why America is not a gardening culture, why it should become one now.

Hope to see you there!

The 12-step method

Step #1

(I was asked for this, so figured I’d share it here, too.)

1.    Identify bulbs that will be most suitable for pot culture and purchase. Also purchase bulbs that are not at all suitable for forcing just for fun. Accumulate huge pile of bulbs in inconvenient spot.

2.    Identify pots. Try to choose more lightweight pots, where possible. Buy pots on sale. Shake head over number of ugly pots you have accumulated over the years.

3.    Evaluate soil situation. Is soil leftover from summer annuals in pots still Ok to use? If not, or if there is not enough, purchase large bags of potting mix. Avoid expensive mixes that contain fertilizer or are labeled “organic”; find cheap, lightweight mixes.

4.    Option: place empty plastic pots upside down in containers to take up space and make them lighter. Some recommend packing peanuts at bottom of pot.

5.    Fill empty pots a bit more than halfway; remove excess from pots that already have enough leftover soil. Find and discard old bulbs from last year and root masses from annuals.

6.    Place bulbs—about 20-25 per container in circular patterns. Layer daffodils on top of tulips, if you want a mix. Try to alternate contrasting tulip colors; lose track and give up.

7.    Cover top 1/3-1/2 of pot with soil.

8.    Extra step—place a round tomato/peony support at top of pot as a deterrent to squirrels. Disguise with soil. Water pots. (Oops—should have watered after moving them to the garage.)

9.    Drag pots into the garage. (Water them now—much better.)

10. Ignore for 5 months, occasionally wondering—when getting in and out of car—if they are completely frozen. They look frozen. They feel frozen.

11. Water them again in late March to wake them up.

12. Drag out the pots in early April. Water. Wait for bloom. Discover that the contrasting colors you chose really don’t complement each other as much as you thought. Realize that whatever you do, one type of tulip always blooms before the other type. Think about tulips you should have planted instead of these. But hey—they came up!

Can We Double Our Eggplant and Basil Output?

Last week, I went to hear a lecture considering how we can double agricultural output worldwide in the coming decades to keep up with population growth.  Professor Wilhem Gruissem's answer was, in a nutshell, GMOs.

This week, a piece in Nature, "Solutions for a cultivated planet" by Jonathan A. Foley et al., considers the same question with a bit more of a focus on the ecological devastation wrought by industrial agriculture.  A few choice tidbits:

• "Agriculture is now a dominant force behind many environmental threats, including climate change, biodiversity loss and degradation of land and freshwater."
• "Agriculture is responsible for 30–35% of global greenhouse gas emissions, largely from tropical deforestation, methane emissions from livestock and rice cultivation, and nitrous oxide emissions from fertilized soils."

The article's authors suggest a few principles for expanding agricultural output without wrecking the planet:

1. Stop expanding agriculture.  Cutting down tropical forests in particular has only limited benefits in terms of world food yield.  (I've read that the soils there are relatively poor.)  Instead, the paper's authors would like to see us reduce the loss of already productive farmland (fewer subdivisions?) and improve yields on the land we're already using. 
2. Close yield gaps. In other words, make underperforming land perform better. To do it without environmental devastation, the authors argue that it will take "reforming conventional agriculture and adopting lessons from organic systems and precision agriculture."
3. Increase agricultural resource efficiency. In other words, improve nutrient and water use so some places are not squandering these resources while others are starving because of a lack them. In water-scarce places, they recommend mulching and reduced tillage, and God bless.
4. Increase food delivery by shifting diets and reducing waste.  Less meat--in particular, less grain-fed beef. Less waste--the authors cite an FAO study that found that about one-third of the food produced is never eaten, but lost to waste, spoilage, or pests.  

I'd like to add my own thought:

1. Turn that wasted patch of sunny suburban sod into a vegetable garden.  You'll enjoy it.  It will be pretty.  The food will taste great. You'll take some pressure off the planet.

Anyone else fed up with eco-evangelists?

Here's a guest column from Toronto Star garden writer and author Sonia Day. Watch for our review of her new book, The Untamed Garden. (The heirlooms in the photo were grown by a Buffalo-area gardener.)

Heirlooms can provide a successful crop—and sometimes not.

Happens every year. Regular as clockwork. The moment I mention heirloom tomatoes in my Toronto Star column, I get a nasty email from a woman I’ll call Martha.

Martha doesn’t like my stand on these kinds of tomatoes.  I tell my readers that they can be cranky (for a variety of reasons) and advise them to plant a modern hybrid too, so they’ll be assured of a good crop.

Yet Martha objects. Strongly. This year, she called me “ a ridiculous joke” who knows nothing about gardening.

I didn’t bother to reply to Martha (although I used to, because I love getting feedback about my columns and  answer every email I get). I didn’t bother to tell her that I’m a master gardener, the author of six books on gardening and that I grow just about everything I write about, so I can give readers solid, practical advice.

No, I ignored her email for the simple reason that Martha belongs to a tribe of zealots who increasingly make me see red. They are the eco-evangelists, the plant purists, the plant Nazis, the well-meaning but misguided people who insist that the only good plant has the tag “heirloom” attached to it.

Whatever. I have another name for these folks. They are the new Puritans. Because hasn’t the environmental movement taken on all the trappings of a new world religion? To me, its dedicated adherents are exactly like the original Puritans— that is, a bunch of humorless, preachy, politically-correct purists who insist that their views are “the right ones”—and that anyone who dares to disagree with them on any topic is destined to fry in hell.

For example: These new fundamentalists have dissed me for saying there’s nothing wrong with having a lawn. (Let’s face it, guys like lawns. And living in the country, with a whopping area to care for, I actually enjoy my lawn, too. It’s easier than flowerbeds and keeps bugs down, although I do point out that expecting pristine turf is unrealistic and using noxious chemicals to achieve that goal is definitely out.) And last year, I created an uproar in my column by saying that a few invasive plants—periwinkle, for instance—could be useful in places where absolutely nothing else would grow. One gent was so enraged by this suggestion, he tried to get me fired from the Star.

Then there are the faithful who insist that “foreign” plants are the bad guys, but native plants—ALL native plants—are angels from heaven, because they don’t get out of control. Well, bollocks to that, I say. Because what about the Manitoba Maple? (a.k.a. box elder or Acer negundo).  This tree gallops everywhere it can, in my experience. And the Indian Cup Plant? (Yes, the native Indians loved it, so we’re supposed to love it too, I guess, but this towering perennial is so bossy, I’ve decided to banish it from my own garden.)

And about those contentious heirloom tomatoes. Sure, I grow them. They’re delicious. I love their flavour. After much experimentation, my faves are Black Krim, Costoluto and Persimmon. (Get seeds from Renee's Garden because Calfornia-based Renee, bless her heart, sure knows her stuff and personally tests everything she sells.) Yet other kinds, I’ve found, can be cantankerous—prone to bacterial disease, cracking badly on top, their shoulders stay green, and they take far too long to mature in the chilly Zone 4 area where I live.  So I always plant a modern hybrid too, to be on the safe side.

But don’t tell Martha, will ya? I think she wants to kill me.

Sonia Day is gardening columnist for the Toronto Star. Her column, the Real Dirt, appears in the Friday edition, Living section, usually from the April until mid-December.  Read it here. Her seventh book, The Untamed Garden, A Revealing Look At Our Love Affair With Plants, is being published by Random House in the U.S. and McLelland & Stewart Canada on Nov. 8, 2011. Contact her at soniaday.com

See You in Florida!

Today is the last day of what has been a rather lengthy book tour.  After three weeks on the road, I'll just be glad to wear something other than what's in my suitcase!

I love, love, love this bookstore.  And I have very fond memories of some amazing Cuban food and mojitos within walking distance.  Mmmmmm.....

Wednesday, Oct 26, 8 PM
Books & Books
Coral Gables, FL

Guide to Smithsonian Gardens

Tourists to D.C. typically see the Smithsonian museums, but how about the 28+ acres of maintained gardens around them?  Most would be surprised to learn there's that much hort action going on right there on the National Mall.  But straight from Smithsonian Books, the new Guide to Smithsonian Gardens by Carole Ottesen will, I hope, direct more visitors to these local treasures.  And locals like myself, possibly jaded by unlimited access (no entry fee, ever), will learn how little they really know about these gardens, and come to appreciate them more.

Thumb's Up

• Author Carole Otteson was wisely chosen.  She's an actual garden writer, one of the best.
• Otteson's thorough historical research shows, and great stories are revealed. 
• Like: The original legacy from Smithson in 1829 was 105 sacks of gold sovereigns "for the increase and diffusion of knowledge in the U.S." making him the BIll and Melinda Gates of his day. (Btw, the Gateses donated $50 million to SI just last year.) 
• Like: When Charles Dickens visited in 1842 he found NO gardens there, only "wasted ground with frowzy grass" - love that! 
• And one more:  To help preserve the American bison, a small herd of them could be seen grazing on the lawn of the Smithsonian castle.  They lived there until the National Zoo was established, providing more suitable quarters.
• I love reading about the Ripley Garden, my favorite (see Best Little Garden in Washington), which Otteson calls a "plant-lovers' delight".
• Ditto my second favorite, the butterfly habitat garden, which is little known except to people who work nearby - and local garden clubs.

Just Two Nits to Pick

• The book touts the "environmentally sensitive practices that horticulturists employ each and every day", claiming that "visitors are inspired by this," specifically the use of Integrated Pest Management and native plants.  Sounds good, but when it comes to roses, shouldn't good pest managment start with choosing plants that are pest-resistant?  So there's no NEED to spray with crappy products?  (Long-time readers may remember my rant on this subject.)
• Too bad an actual garden photographer wasn't hired for this project.  It shows.

Recommitting to bulbs in pots

Over the past few years, I have gone from throwing a few bulbs in pots—mainly the leftovers from in-ground and forcing—to filling at least 8 big pots with tulip pairings, to use in front of the house (the biggest and therefore least portable ones) and in the courtyard (size and weight not quite as important). I use the term “bulbs in pots” rather than bulb-forcing, because the pots stay in a cold garage and come out at the normal time for hybrid tulips to bloom (that’s May, here). They come up like clockwork, regardless of how cold it gets in the garage.  I have tried hyacinths, but these turn to mush for some reason; this year, I may give daffodils a try.

Right now there are 100 Prinses Irene; 100 Passionale; and 50 each of Black Hero, Orange Princess, and the embarrassingly-named Sensual Touch, ready to be packed into 8 (or so) pots. Whatever are left I can force, and those will be in smaller containers in the root cellar, to be used for house blooms in March.

Tulips in pots work because:
-the lack of reliable return does not matter
-my lack of good, sunny in-ground space does not matter
-it’s easy and fun to do
-they are protected from digging predators, and I’m thinking they’d be easier to protect from deer
-many other reasons I’m not thinking of right now

Does anyone else do this?

More on Dig.Drop.Dumb.

Toronto Star garden columnist Sondra Day took a swipe at this promotional campaign in her October 20 column, calling it “thoroughly insulting to women” and observing that it “misses the mark completely.”

She got a letter from the Woodbine that used the usual key phrases like “first-time gardeners” and “young consumers,” assuring her that the campaign would be “… a massive, three-year, fully integrated effort that includes print and online advertising, PR, social and events.” I have not seen any evidence of the print part, but that’s not surprising since I don’t read any of the magazines that would be running it—the Woodbine blog mentions Real Simple, Parenting, and Shape as intended markets, and I have also heard it is in Better Homes and Gardens.

I’m glad that there is pushback on this silliness, which is expensive and, if continued, would surely have the effect of pushing up bulb prices if nothing else. I'm still not sure if it would convince anyone to buy more, or start buying them.

Is the GMO Fight Over?

This week, I went to hear a science lecture at Skidmore College, "Can We Still Feed the World in 2050?" by Professor Wilhelm Gruissem of ETH in Zurich. 

As a serious vegetable gardener, I am, of course, monumentally interested in this question.

The answer, according to Professors Gruissem is yes, with GMOs. He is most interested in genetic manipulations that boost the nutritional value of staple crops such as rice and cassava, as well as genes that fight pathogens that threaten crops like wheat and bananas--and not, thank God, in RoundUp readiness.  

He said that he differed from his colleagues in genetic engineering, also, in believing it would be good if we farmed more diverse crops, rather than just improve the handful of monocultures that provide most of the world's food.

He also lamented the loss of diversity within different varieties of crops, and proposes turning the genetic variations in heirloom varieties of vegetables into information.  He doesn't think seed banks like Svalbard are particularly useful to scientists--or farmers.  "Farmers won't be growing these crops,"  he said. He thinks we need instead to create a giant database of the genetic riches in our vegetable varieties, so scientists can recreate and insert these old genes, should any of them prove valuable, into modern varieties.

Of course, that puts the burden of evolution squarely on the scientists' shoulders.  No more adaptation in a field!

It's not easy, doing bioengineering in Europe, where GMOs are reviled.  Professor Gruissem showed photos of activists destroying his field trials, his house spray-painted with anti-GMO slogans, and his wife's car covered in paint thinner.  

And then he showed a slide of horrible American supermarket food, in order to illustrate how much more reasonable we Americans are.  He said that he eats this food when he is in America and doesn't get sick, so what's the problem? (Sorry, buddy, but I feel much better about my agricultural experts when they also happen to be foodies!)

Professor Gruissem seems to have a great deal of contempt for the small farms that surround him in Switzerland--and the Swiss who think they need to see where their food grows.  In America, we are more sensible, he said, because we believe food comes from the Safeway and we accept production agriculture. 

I won't take the time to go into the many ways that production agriculture is an ecological and nutritional disaster. Ultimately, the problem of feeding the world is one of limited arable land and a rising population.  And diverse small farms, which can produce more food on the same acreage than giant industrial monocultures--with less ecological damage--seem to me an important part of the answer.

Nonetheless, I do have an open mind about the possibilities of genetic engineering.  But I would have assumed that this was a politically incorrect position.  I seem to be wrong.  The single most interesting thing about Professor Gruissem's lecture was that an audience of college students showed no outrage whatsoever in the Q&As about GMOs.  

In fact, they largely left it up to Professor Gruissem to criticize Monsanto.

Has the battle for public opinion actually been won by Monsanto?

Don't get the Drift

Here’s another guest rant from James Roush, a professor of veterinary medicine who blogs at Garden Musings.

Was anyone else seduced by the hype of the Drift® roses this year?  The slogans were enticing:  "From the introducers of the Knock Out family," and "The Next Big Thing for Small Gardens."  Well, I might be alone out here on this limb, but even so, I'll be the first to say that I'm underwhelmed.  Was I biased from the start?  In the interest of full disclosure, maybe a little bit, since I know that while Conard Pyle had introduced the Knock Out roses to commerce, the creator of Knock Out, Bill Radler, is not the breeder of the Drift roses; they came from the lines of French hybridizers Meilland International.

I attended a seminar last spring on these and was told by the speaker that his personal favorite was 'Peach Drift'.  Despite being a shrub and old garden rose fanatic, I was encouraged enough by his enthusiasm to decide that I'd try one or two out this year, particularly if I could find 'Peach Drift'—although one-foot tall roses are really not to the scale of my garden.  Perhaps, I thought, a container on the patio might work well? (They are marketed as excellent choices for containers.)

Fortunately or unfortunately it took me a week to start looking and by then the local nurseries had all sold out except for the pink and red varieties.  And they were priced at $30.00 each!  Given a price 50% higher than most potted hybrid teas, and taking into account that 'Red Drift' is more double-petaled than 'Pink Drift', I chose the red and only purchased one. I put it into a very large container in full sun and gave it more attention than any other plant this summer. 

And it is a good thing I only ended up with one, because I'm not impressed at all by my 'Red Drift' rose.  You can see it above, pictured at the end of what was admittedly a very hot summer, the leaves a little scorched from all the Kansas sun.  Yes, it seems to be blackspot resistant, but I did have to fight a bout of spider mites with pressurized sprays of water.  It didn't grow 6 inches in any direction all summer long, despite almost daily watering in the extreme heat and careful attention to fertilization.  And what you see above is the best bloom display I saw all summer, as pitiful as it is.  The lack of bloom was a bit understandable during the heat spells, but I would think that the cooler weather of September would have kicked off a bloom cycle, wouldn't you? 

So, pending further evidence, I'm done with the Drift.  They're just not enough of a landscape spectacle for me to overlook the fact that the blooms are not individually striking. I'm going to keep the container outside, so by next spring, I will have a strong test of how hardy mine really is.  I also plan to see how these roses did in the garden of a friend who planted 50(!) of them this spring, so there's still a chance I'll change my mind. Or maybe not. If you get my drift.

Weird Wonderfulness from Hendrick's Gin

As long as we're talking about booze today, here's a strange and marvelous thing:  the people at Hendrick's Gin are injecting their usual madcap absurdity into London Cocktail Week, an event it pains me greatly to miss.  Anyway, they've created an Umbrella Emporium to pay tribute to the cocktail umbrella.  Check this one out--the Mumbrella:  ‘A miniature umbrella made out of iridescent feathers is shielding a chicken egg sat on a nest. Is it waiting for the egg to hatch, or is it just shielding it from the morning rain before it gets eaten for breakfast? Only the Mumbrella knows...’ 

Well. There you have it.

 

The Wonders of Cassis

This is another in a series I'm writing for the North Coast Journal based on my book in progress, The Drunken Botanist.

(Your intrepid reporter at the Cassissium.  Notice the pen and notebook. This is work.  Really.)

After a week spent touring distilleries in France, Scott and I had come to suspect that anything called a museum must receive special benefits:  tax cuts, subsidies, an extra-long vacation every August.  It seemed like every distillery had created an official museum devoted to their product.  The museum was often nothing more than a few glass cases in the gift shop, but a smiling woman in a blazer and a badge stood nearby, ready to hand us a brochure in our choice of language and give us a guided tour of the glass cases. 

We took the tours seriously. I was doing actual research for a book, so I accepted the brochure, took notes, and snapped photographs.  We saw many sepia photos of handsome French men standing in front of barns—the founders of the distilleries, we were told, and proof that their now-legendary elixirs came from humble origins. There were also farm implements, strange twisted bits of copper distilling equipment, and tattered Art Deco posters of the sort that you now see adorning the walls at Applebee’s, except that these were the originals. And there were crusty old bottles filled with murky liquids that we would not be invited to taste.

Once we realized that every distillery possessed such a museum, we’d come to feel that participating in the so-called tour made us unwitting accomplices in a French tax evasion scheme.  It was like that feeling you get on Facebook when you “like” a post about a particular microbrew and realize that you’re participating in a giant marketing survey, spending your precious hours entering data free of charge that will be sold to corporations for an enormous profit, in exchange for the ability to share Daily Show clips with your friends—but then you push that realization away and you keep putting in those volunteer hours anyway.

So by the time we arrived in Nuits-St.Georges, just outside Dijon, we were quite jaded about the distillery museum. Imagine our surprise when we arrived at the Cassissium, France’s national museum of the black currant, and found ourselves in a slick, museum-like lobby being offered a headset and urged to join the short introductory film, which was just underway in a sizable auditorium down the hall.  There we watched an animated black fruit expound upon its historical significance and nutritional benefits, all of which was awkwardly translated to English subtitles for our benefit.  The French take their cassis seriously.

The tour that followed took us past several rooms filled with the usual glass cases, and then into a monstrous distillery where black currants were crushed by the ton and macerated in a clear and very boozy eau-de-vie, then watered down with sugar syrup until it reached about 20 percent alcohol and was ready to bottle.

This is creme de cassis.  I’m going to bet that many of you have never had it, or if you have, you didn’t make it part of your regular drinking routine.  I intend to change that.

Black currants (Ribes nigrum) are native to Europe and not widely grown or eaten here.  Currants (not to be mistaken for the very small, seedless raisins that Americans confusingly also refer to as currants) have an overpowering tartness and an indescribable—well, currantness—that doesn’t appeal to our palate.  This is a shame, because black currants are very high in vitamin C and antioxidants, and cassis is unambiguously delightful and perfect for these unexpectedly warm, bright fall afternoons we are enjoying right now.

A good liquor store probably has a couple of dusty bottles of French cassis in stock. Read the label carefully and make sure you’re not buying something artificial.  You want a bottle that contains nothing but fruit, sugar, water, and spirit.  Once you find it, do what the people at the Cassissium recommend and turn it over, then watch the cassis run down the inside of the bottle.  If it coats the glass and slides down in a slow, languorous, syrup-like fashion, you’ve got the right stuff. (Online options include K&L, DrinkUpNY, and Astor Wine & Spirits.)

An even better option is Clear Creek Distillery’s cassis, made in Portland from black currants grown in Scio, Oregon.  (Everything Clear Creek makes is worth drinking, and if you go to Portland, make time for a stop at their tasting room – minus the museum.)  A bottle costs just over twenty dollars and will certainly get you through the winter.

Now, what do you do with it?  You pour a dollop into a glass and then add white wine, sparkling wine, hard cider, or beer.  That’s right, beer. Here’s how this works:

Kir: A kir is a splash of cassis in white wine.  If you tell the people at the Cassissium that you are from California, they will lecture you very sternly about never, ever mixing their beautiful cassis with Chardonnay or Sauvignon Blanc. This is an atrocity, an epic clash of fruit in the glass, and an insult to all of French culture.  (At least, that’s what I think they said.)  They recommend a white Burgundy (of course they do), but I’d try it with any dry, mineraly white wine.  Actually, I think that what you’re going to do is buy whatever white wine you like, throw a little cassis in, and call it awesome.  That’s fine with me.  We’ve let the French have had their say, so now we can do as we please.

Kir Royal:  Do the same thing, only with sparkling wine.  One of the great benefits of cassis is that it will greatly improve a mediocre sparkling wine—but this is not to suggest that you should go out and buy the cheapest possible fizzy stuff. There’s a limit to how much alcohol (or calories) a person should reasonably consume in a day; don’t waste your allotment on junk.  I am very happy with the Segura Viudas Brut that the Co-op sells for eight bucks; try that if you’re on a budget.  And by all means, do not pollute a bottle of very fancy Champagne with cassis.  It will not make fancy Champagne any fancier; it will simply change a flavor that some winemaker worked very hard to perfect. So choose a middle-of-the-road bubbly.

Kir Normand or Kir Cidre:  Called a “cider and black” in the UK, this is hard cider with cassis. Yum.

And about that beer….In the UK, a “snakebite and black” is equal parts lager and cider with cassis. Some people add a little cassis to Guinness or another stout.  Beer drinkers, commence experimentation. Salúd!

Rant on the Road: DC, Boston, Georgia, Florida

The book tour madness continues. There better be a very nice mojito waiting for me in Coral Gables, that's all I'm sayin'.

 

Wednesday, October 19, 2011 12:00 noon
United States Botanic Garden
Washington, DC

Wednesday, October 19, 2011 6:30 PM
Hillwood Estate, Museum & Gardens
Washington, DC

Thursday, October 20, 2011 5:30 pm
Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden
Richmond, VA

Friday, October 21, 2011  7 PM
Porter Square Books
Cambridge, MA

Saturday, October 22, 2011 2 pm
Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University
Boston, MA

Monday, Oct 24, 7:15 PM
Georgia Center for the Book
Decatur, GA

Wednesday, Oct 26, 8 PM
Books & Books
Coral Gables, FL

Ken Druse's Underwater Garden

 
Ken's garden before Hurricane Irene

 
Ken's garden during the Irene-caused flood

Gardening on an island in a river in Northwestern New Jersey, Ken Druse is used to floods, which he stopped counting after the 12th.  But Hurricane Irene was different.  As Ken recently told the Annapolis Horticulture Society, Irene left his garden under water for FIVE DAYS.  And deposited as much as TWO FEET OF SAND in some parts of his garden.  Sorry for the all-caps but seeing his photos and videos of all the destruction left me traumatized!  

I asked Ken if he plans to restore his garden or was he considering moving on, and he answered, "I'm going to take it slowly. I have to make repairs to the infrastructure -- wall, bridge, deer fence, etc.  Then I will continue to clean up.  I suppose that does mean I will be trying to get a garden going, but I think it is an opportunity to figure out a new strategy."  While some might think of destruction like this as an "opportunity" to buy lots of new plants, Ken knows that there's no way to replace plants you've nurtured for 15 years - without the huge budget required to buy full-grown plants.

Readers, what would YOU do if you gardened here?

Drusian Plant Wisdom - Highlights from his Talk

• He's "almost desperate" to get more people to grow plants and urged us to plant tree with kids, or just show them what's under a rock, but do it before they turn three or it may be too late.
• To help "Stop plant blindness", learn plant names!
• Boy, does he hate mulch volcanoes, dyed mulch, and the instant gardens on TV.
• But guess what! In stark contrast to the Michael Dirr, he actually LIKES the Beauty Bush (a favorite of mine) and recommends it and other large, old-fashioned, flowering shrubs, like Weigela and Mock Orange.  He loves how effective they are at "shinking his property," which I agree is the fastest and cheapest way to create a lush but low-maintenance garden.
• Though he's authored 16 books, it's taken a whole lot of years to do that - an average of four years per book. So, he doesn't just pop 'em out.
• Ken's a geek for plant propagation (and has Making More Plants to show for it) and shared a cool trick for giving Arisaema ringens seeds the six-times-a-day water changing they need - hanging them in a toilet tank.  (Oh, yes he did!)
• He's "really into oaks" because they provide more value to wildlife than any other plant.
• His garden doesn't have just floods, but bears, too!  (Visions of Stephen Colbert's bear hysteria come to mind.)

Red carpet treatment

That’s what the National Trust for Historic Preservation will be getting in Buffalo this week when they roll in for their annual conference. That is, if the sight of thousands of red mums planted in selected Olmsted parks can be considered a luxurious welcome. I suspect most of these attendees will have their eyes trained on manmade wonders—about which I feel much more confident.

There were a few funny comments about this on one of the local blogs, like “Let's just hope we don't get another Madonna incident where it turns out somebody ‘loathes red mums.’” Another reader thought that the city should “be focused on pleasing the residents first and foremost,” not just when visitors arrive.

I wouldn’t say that I loathe red or any other color mums, but I do dislike these plants. The form and foliage of the common annual mums—such as those being planted in Buff—are stiff and unappealing. And let’s not forget their rather unpleasant scent.

This is not totally about aesthetics, though. I love zinnias and dahlias, which have similar flower forms to the superior mum varieties and don’t smell much better. What bothers me most about these plants is that they suddenly appear for sale everywhere in early September and by November they’re done—not that you’d want to linger outside to enjoy them anyway. It’s hard to think of any other plant that has such a short, depressing life cycle. I have plenty of annuals in my garden now that still look as good as—or better than—when I planted them in May. A geranium, for example, gives a far more enduring performance, with handsome foliage and a pleasant scent thrown in for free.

Still, anything en masse can look impressive—I’ll have to make a site visit to our new red carpet, and see if I can get a better shot than the one I’m using here (which I think is a stock photo). Before they’re all soggy and brown.

Rant on the Road: New Mexico, Texas, DC, MD

As you read this, I am probably sitting in an airport somewhere.  Or maybe I'm here:

 

Wednesday, October 12, 2011  7 PM
Bookworks
Albuquerque, NM

Thursday, October 13, 2011  7 PM
Book People
Austin, TX

Friday, October 14, 2011 11:30
Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center
Austin, TX

Saturday, October 15, 2011  1:00
Blue Willow Books (Event location TBA)
Houston, TX

Monday, October 17, 2011 8:00 pm
Silver Spring Garden Club
Wheaton, MD

Wednesday, October 19, 2011 12:00 noon
United States Botanic Garden
Washington, DC

The complete list of events is here.

What Does An Organic Gardener Do About Flea Control?

I'm sure my vet thinks I'm a terrible cat owner.  Whenever I bring Loretta in, they ask me nicely what I'm doing about flea control, and I mutter and shuffle my feet and make excuses.  The truth is that I don't know what to do.

Those flea drops have always bothered me.  I've tried various brands over the years, at my vet's urging, and my cats hate them.  As soon as I put the drops on, they go running around in circles, clearly in pain.  They try frantically to lick them off, no easy feat as they're applied to the back of the head.  And the last time I did it (after still more prodding from the vet), Loretta clearly got sick.  He scratched the spot where the drops were until it bled, he hardly moved for a couple of days, and it was a week or two before he was himself again. (Yes, I have a male cat named Loretta. It's a Beatles reference.)

I don't know why it took me so long to just read the package and find out what was in those drops.  Well, what's in them are pesticides, of course.

The same pesticides I refuse to spray on my plants.

So why would I put them on my cat? 

Phenothrin. Imidacloprid. Fipronil.  The NRDC maintains a directory of flea control products and their ingredients if you'd like to look them up yourself.  The UK's Pesticide Action Network has created a useful list of ingredients and toxicity reports--specific to the UK, but worth checking out nonetheless.  And the EPA has been evaluating complaints about pet poisonings and coming up with new requirements for these "spot-on" treatments--their whole program is summarized here, and there is a link to a reporting system for reporting problems with these products.

And this report (PDF) suggests that fleas may become resistant to these pesticides.  Well, yeah.

Of course fleas are a problem.  They can transmit tapeworms, and ticks can transmit Lyme and other diseases, and they are just unpleasant in so many ways.

But--dang.  I won't put these pesticides on a shrub, so why would I put them on my pet?  Who I sleep with?  (and if I had kids--whose fur the children would be nuzzling constantly?)

So what are the alternatives?

Well, the NRDC has some suggestions.  I bought an herbal spray at the pet store, and my cat hated it. The smell was overpowering, even in tiny quantities. It gave me a headache, and I wasn't the one covered in it.  So I washed that off. (This Colorado State University report (PDF) confirms that some of the so-called "natural" treatments can be hazardous as well.)

Combing?  Bathing?  That's easy enough.

Cat flea nematoes in the garden?  Maybe not so effective.

Electric flea traps?  That same report on pesticide resistance I linked to above (PDF) suggests that they might work. Could be worth a try.

What are your thoughts?  Organic gardeners, what's your stance on flea control?

A gardener's tour of the U.S. Capitol Grounds

I recently attended the annual conference of America in Bloom, where I got to hang out with such long-distance gardening buddies as Joe Lamp'l and Paul Tukey - more about them coming soon.  But a special treat for this local was my first-ever tour of the U.S.Capitol Grounds with Ted Bechtol, superintendent of the grounds and related parks - 274 acres in all.  Here he is showing us a newly planted American chestnut, a cross with the disease-resistant Chinese species.

Designed by Frederick Law Olmsted in the 1870s, the Capitol Grounds includes 4,200 trees (187 species of them) and 85 beds filled with annuals and tulips.  Olmsted's primary here was to complement the building, so trees are sited so as to not block views of it.  The photo below illustrates a departure from that original intent - the tall shrubs hiding the foundation of the building on the Senate side.  Bechtol plans to remove them, which will make the building look more massive and imposing, as Olmsted intended.

Curiously, only 5 percent of the trees are evergreens - Olmsted just wasn't that into them.  And historians will be happy to know that the the original landscape is remarkably intact, still geometrically laid-out paths and informally arrayed plants, almost exclusively trees. (Olmsted wasn't that into flowers, either. Some congresspeople, however, ARE, and request more of them. It's Bechtol's job to satisfy them and history both.)

Unlike so many other properties in post-9/11 Washington, there's no fence around this one, thankfully, so acccess and openness reign. In addition to the occasional demonstrations, there are performances - by high-school and armed forces bands, as well the National Symphony Orchestra and the televised July 4th show.  Not to mention the Inauguration.  As a consequence of all that public access, the lawn here is good enough but can never be perfect.

Speaking of lawn, I asked Bechtol how this one is cared for and I was glad to hear that only organic fertilizers are used on the 90 acres of turf under his care, plus top dressings of compost and leafmold.  He's reduced the use of weedkillers since he became superintendent four years ago, thanks in part to simply raising the mowing height.

Olmsted's design included not just paths and plants but all the infrastructure here, both above- and below-ground, and lots of hardscape features, like the red granite lamp piers, one of which is shown with the Library of Congress in the background.

Olmsted also designed the little out-building that's missed by most visitors - the little Victorian Summerhouse.  Notice the single-seating of the benches - designed to prevent sleep-overs.  There's an attached grotto, and a carillon that was put in storage years ago and then lost.  (Bechtol's looking for one to replace that original one; if you know of one, let him know.)

For landscape history buffs, see the history of the grounds, from which I love this detail:

Work accelerated in 1877. By this time, according to Olmsted's report, "altogether 7,837 plants and trees [had] been set out." However, not all had survived: hundreds were stolen or destroyed by vandals, and, as Olmsted explained, "a large number of cattle [had] been caught trespassing."

IF YOU GO

Here's my take-away from the tour:  If you're a landscape historian or tree-buff, you'll love  the place and appreciate Bechtol's efforts to replicate Olmsted's original collection of trees.  But otherwise, the U.S. Capitol isn't a spot I recommend for garden-seekers. If you don't believe me, notice in this slide show about the horticulture of the Capitol that there isn't much there.

For visitors of all sorts, gardener or not, there ARE some highlights of the U.S. Capitol that I've come to love in my 30+ years of working there: the Old Supreme Court Chambers and the Brumidi Corridors.  And though I haven't visited yet myself, I hear great things about the new Visitor's Center. 

For the garden-seeker I recommend these gems that are close to the Capitol building: the U.S. Botanic Garden and Bartholdi Park across the street from it.  Then venturing into nearby Smithsonian territory, the grounds of the American Indian Museum grounds are terrific and my favorite garden in all of D.C. is the Ripley Garden, tucked into a passageway next to the Smithsonian Castle. 

Gratuitous extra photo:  Bo Obama posing in front of the Washington Monument.  Looks like him, right?

An apple a day—since 1986

First, there was the black screen with a “C” prompt. That was the PC I used to learn the Wordstar program in 1984. Two years later, I bought my first Mac. Suddenly I was looking at a screen where graphics and blocks of text could be easily seen and moved around—and soon I was making newsletters, calendars, and fooling around with sound programs. Even in the days before the web, Facebook, or Twitter, I was on my computer every day; it was easy and fun. Eventually, all PCs were employing a graphical interface (more or less), but I am not the only one giving Apple and Steve Jobs the credit.

If publishing our images and thoughts on gardening wasn’t easy, none of us would do it. We’d be too busy working, raising a family, gardening, traveling hanging out with friends, or any of the other life-related activities. But it is easy. You point, you click, you upload a picture, you type a few words, and you can see what it looks like right away.

Many of the gardeners I know locally struggle with technology. Even here, I remember the initial reluctance about Twitter and Facebook. Now, I think many people who would have spent their time reading and commenting on blogs are switching to the faster, easier communications those networks make possible. It’s a natural progression.

But whatever happens, it’s all so much better than that black screen. So—even though I neither know nor care if he was a gardener—I’m thanking Steve J.

Trust Me, My Hair and Nails Don't Look Any Better

Why is your garden such a mess?  You call yourself a garden writer?

The above questions are on everyone's lips, including

• professional photographers trying to shoot my garden for magazines
• the mail carrier who can't stick mail in my basket without being velcroed by a 'Russelliana' cane
• my neighbors, who oscillate between horror and pity when they climb the front steps
• my husband, who is upset that he has to park in six inches of as yet unmoved compost
• Sean next door, who is actually too polite to raise the issue, but has been living with my half of a 10 yard load of wood chips in his parking spot all summer.

It hasn't been a pretty year in the garden, though in my defense, last year my vegetable garden was spectacular, just a sea of well-weeded and beautifully organized food.

And we did have some good moments here this year, namely the best tulip spring ever, thanks to Elizabeth's suggestion that I try some species tulips.  I wound up with the same three colors--purple, yellow, and orange--in an outrageously artful and piquant range of shapes. Oh, and it was all extra-amazing, because it happened at the same time as the wild white violas were blooming like sprinkles on a colorful cake or sequins on a colorful dress.

The roses were nice, too, back in June when someone restrained them.

What the hell happened since?

1. The media business struggled. My dream job--gardening columnist for a major newspaper--no longer exists, killed off, ironically, by the likes of this blog and many others.  Maybe it's possible to make a living as a garden writer after you've written 8 books, but on a single book? Impossible. So newbie garden writers have to keep the day job, unless they marry rich or are born rich. Nope and nope.
2. The economy is horrible.  But, after a dry spell, I've had a flood of writing work since May, and it would be insanity to turn it down.
3. Sometimes garden writers have kids with demanding schedules.
4. No funds for help.  Of course, help is not really my thing.  I love using a shovel and wheelbarrow.  Let's get back to no time.
5. Lack of inspiration.  I made my vegetable garden in the city this year, and let my beautiful country garden become a mess of weeds.  Some people are city people.  I am just not. The things that make me happy are the sound of peepers, the motion of dragon flies, fireflies when a hillside is full of them, and meadows pulsing with insect life and goldrenrod in late summer.  None of these things can be found in 7500 square feet of theoretically civilized yard. 
6. Henry the dog.  He's a country character, just like me, and needs to run off the leash every day. So we run.  He's undoubtedly prolonging my life, but shortening my gardening time.

The other big question on everyone's lips is, why am I not more ashamed?

1. I've been gardening for a long, long time. There are bad years in the garden, and there are spectacular years, just as there are in life.  Next year, I am convinced, will be a better year.

Rant on the Road: California

A three-week book tour that starts in California in early October and ends up in late October in Boston?  Sure, I can pack for that.  Here I go.  If you don't hear much from me in October, it's because I'm doing this:

Thursday, October 6, 2011 7 pm
Conservatory of Flowers
"Wicked Bugs" lecture. Tickets $10/$7 for members San Francisco, CA

Saturday, October 8, 2011

10 AM at Orange County Great Park

12 noon at Heritage Museum of Santa Ana
Orange County Master Gardeners
Orange County, CA

Sunday, October 9, 2011
National Junior Horticulture Association
San Diego, CA

Monday, October 10, 2011 6:45 pm
San Diego Horticultural Society
San Diego, CA

Tuesday, October 11, 2011  7:30 PM
Warwick's
San Diego, CA

Wednesday, October 12, 2011  7 PM
Bookworks
Albuquerque, NM

and so on....

(go here for all the dates.)