Crocus, a.k.a. Spriiiiiiing!

Here in the Piedmont of North Carolina, winter rages on. Well, "rage" is certainly overstating it, but winter certainly has not ended. And why would we expect it to? It's only mid-March. The past few winters have been warmer than normal, but that certainly doesn't make the winter of 2013-14 colder than normal. It does, however, make me that much more anxious for spring to come - and stay. As if to serve as a reminder that winter is indeed a temporary season, the last week of February brought the first flowers of spring! 

Crocus

Tucked away underneath my Japanese Maple (for some reason) is a tiny clump of tiny Crocus. (I'm calling these straight-up Crocus, since I'm unsure of their exact species or cultivar) A beacon of color among the brown, they're like little purple lollipops in a land without candy. Or something. 

They look straight-up edible, don't they? 

But the first appearance of these closed flowers isn't the whole show. That comes after another day or two of warmth, after which those closed flower buds burst open as if to shout "Happy Spring!" to anyone who happens to walk by. I dare you to look at this next photo without smiling:

Admit it: You're smiling. 

Being one of the earliest flowers to bloom in late winter, you'd be forgiven for worrying that they are damaged by cold or frost. Crocus are more than able to handle a little bit of chill. In addition to being tough little flowers, they belong to a special group of plants in the world that exhibit nyctinasty.

Nyctinasty in action

"Nic-wha?" Nyctinasty. Funny, unpronounceable name, cool feature. See, plants which possess this trait seem to respond to certain environmental stimuli; in this case, the flowers of Crocus will fold up at nighttime and during extreme cold. Nobody really knows why this is, but one of the popular theories is that the plant does this to protect and preserve the pollen for warmer days when pollinating insects are more likely to do their thing and help the plant reproduce. Neat, huh? 

Vital statistics:

Botanical Name: Crocus (70+ different species)
Common Name: Crocus
Native to: Europe, Asia, North Africa, China, others; all depends on the species
Cold Hardy to: Zone 3
Heat Tolerant to: Zone 8-9, guessing (they need about 3 months of cold to initiate flowering) 
Flowers: Showy purple or yellow, blooming either in early spring or autumn depending on species. 

Size: Usually shorter than 4-6". Some remain in small clumps, others can naturalize like a ground cover
Where to buy: Purchase and plant spring-flowering bulbs in the fall; and fall-flowering bulbs in the spring. Keep an eye out for pots of forced Crocus in the houseplant section in early spring. Once those flowers fade it's a great way to snag a lot of bulbs at clearance price!

Plant Crocus near a pathway where it is easy to see despite its diminutive stature. Do not plant underneath cascading trees. It's not smart. (I know. I did it)

Bonus: Saffron? (Crocus sativus)

Picture found at a blog post on All Things Edible

What does Crocus have to do with Saffron? Everything! While it's true that most herbs and spices come from the dried foliage and even bark of certain plants, what would you say if I told you that saffron came from the parts of a Crocus flower? 

http://images.whiteflowerfarm.com/910891a.jpg

Since this is a Crocus that only blooms in the fall, the window to harvest saffron is extremely narrow. To add to it all, saffron must be harvested, processed and separated by hand. These factors contribute to saffron being, as far as I know, the most expensive spice in the world.

For more reading, consult:
General information -
http://www.whiteflowerfarm.com/harvesting-saffron-crocus.html
http://kopiaste.org/2009/11/krokos-kozanis-crocus-or-zafora-greek-saffron-ryzogalo/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crocus_sativus

For some pretty cool photos of Crocus fields and manual processing:
http://buypuresaffron.blogspot.com/2010/11/growing-saffron.html

And if you'd like some Crocus sativus to grow and collect your own saffron:

http://www.whiteflowerfarm.com/910891-product.html#

Confessions of a Plant Geek's Wife - #3: Nervous Spring Energy

For all the freedom I enjoy from being the wife of the plant geek, the few weeks before spring generally make me very nervous.  Throughout most of the year, when I'm either not paying attention or busy doing non-planty things, I trust Joe to do what he does best: take care of the plants.  But for these next few weeks, I'll be filled with anticipation and anxiety.

I have a list of favorite flowers, and most of them are springtime bloomers:

• Crocus
• Hyacinth
• Wisteria
• Orchid
• African Daisy 

We've been growing hyacinth for about as long as we've been married, I'm pretty sure.  I've harbored a fondness for these short-lived, fragrant, pastel-colored flower clusters since childhood, when my grandmother had an outdoor planter filled with them.  Their fragrance was unique; it would waft inside through her screen door, and around the front yard as my sister and I played.  Crocus has been a more recent addition to my list.  I don't recall seeing much of them growing up, but over the past several years they have either gained popularity, or I've just been paying more attention.  I love the colors and variation, as well as their compact size.  And naturally, I love that these two habitually return every spring.

Each year, as the season would come to a close for the hyacinth, Joe would divide up the new bulbs and plant them a little distance away from the older ones, ready for the following year to yield even more blooms.  And every year about mid-late February, the waiting begins.  Little green points start pushing their way through the soil, even though winter is nowhere near over.

Those light-green leaves in the center aren't weeds - they're Hyacinth!

Through snow and ice and frost after frost, I nervously anticipate sudden death for our little buddies. (Haha... "bud"dies... get it?)  After all, cold and frost is bad for plants, isn't it?  Aren't we told all our lives to cover up our fragile gardens before a predicted frost?  These little guys are resilient, though, and seemingly unfazed by frigid weather.  Even our recent 6-8" of snow, topped with about an inch or two of ice, and even more snow on top of that didn't break their stride.  A week after the ice all melted off, the flower heads are still pushing their way up.  I'm pretty sure I ask Joe multiple times each year why or if they will survive through everything.

After multiple snows and a quarter-inch of ice, they're still alive. So far. 

And then, to make matters worse, they never all come up at the same time.  Two or three of the hyacinth bulbs (I suspect the original three we started out with) are always the first to emerge, and having no idea how many we actually ended up with last year because Joe does all the bulb separating, I pace and wring my hands up and down the sidewalk in front of the flower beds every time we leave or return home until each and every plant has made it's appearance.  Where did that hole come from?  Have squirrels been eating my hyacinth?  Of course they haven't.  Hyacinth bulbs are poisonous.  Weren't there four right here last year?  Why are they only in these five places?  Something horrible has happened, I just know it.  We must have moles or something... the kind that don't leave hills and tunnels in the yard... oh right... poisonous bulbs.  Every year I worry, and every year almost all of them return on schedule.

"A Hyacinth is never late. Nor is it early. It arrives precisely when it means to!"

Except last year, the crocuses didn't bloom.  The green leaves made their appearance, but the flowers were a no-show.  This year, they are actually the first to bloom!  So I've let out a little sigh of relief and watched as over the past couple of days, one... two... three flowers have appeared.  They made it! :-)  Now I can rest a little easier.  At least until the next wintry mix forecast.  Which, incidentally, happens to be this weekend.

Winter Called...

Call it"January-ness". Call it "cabin fever". Call it whatever you want, "it" is the crazy stirring of plant geeks around the world just waiting for winter to be over with so we can all get on with gardening again. For me, this feeling of helpless waiting usually strikes hardest sometime in mid-January, whenever I notice the first of my spring bulbs poking up through the ground.

Amid the brown, I get excited about the slightest presence of green - "The end of winter is coming! Hallelujah!" Perhaps I do a little happy dance, and then I go outside to stare at the tiny foliage multiple times a week. When I'm desperate enough, those daffodils seem to have grown an extra 1/16th of an inch since the last time I looked.

And then it snows.

Can't see any daffodils now, can you?

Oh well. It is January, after all. Frozen precipitation is to be expected. Besides, snow is a great insulator! Or so I hope... 

If it's not, I need to buy about $30 worth of carnivorous plants to refill my rusty bucket planter. 

I can't deny that I love the winter interest of cascading Japanese Maples. 

And the vegetable garden... really doesn't look too much worse than it did during the growing season. Maybe 2014 will be the year I finally figure it out?

So there you have it. January in my garden. 

February promises to be a more active month. The first warm weekend we have I'll be out removing old foliage from perennials, weeding, and spreading new mulch (hopefully). Until that warm weekend comes, I'll be doing some planning with regard to the daylily seeds that have been sitting in my refrigerator's crisper drawer since September: 

Hopefully all the seeds are viable. I'm kind of excited to see what kind of mutant daylilies I end up with.

Until then!

A January Assessment

January. It's that month. The holidays are over. Winter has a firm grasp on the land. Technically winter has been here for a few weeks now, but we didn't notice it under the twinkling lights and glistening tinsel. Strip away the veneer of the holidays and the great outdoors are left with brown.

Heck, even some of my houseplants are feeling the cold effects of winter:

Somewhere underneath that Spanish moss is the carcass of a dead, dead plant... 

Actually, no. That pot of deadness above was once the genesis of my houseplant collection: an orchid, Phalaenopsis 'Sogo Lisa'. It was ten years old. How do you kill a ten-year old orchid? What horrible depths of neglect did I inflict upon this poor plant that I murdered it just as it celebrated its first decade of being? And this wasn't even one of those fancy-pants, expensive, hard-to-grow orchids. It's a moth orchid, number one on the list of Top-Ten Easy Orchids.

That makes me feel bad.

But not as bad as this: Do you see this pot?

Whatever it was, it's dead now.

That used to be a plant. I think. Or maybe it was just an empty pot of dirt kept on the windowsill for some "earth tones". Far more likely, it was a horticultural experiment gone wrong.

Wow. Seeing these failed houseplants is making me feel bad. Lets focus our attention outside.

During the growing season I could enjoy a healthy and vigorous Clematis growing on a homemade bamboo trellis just steps from my front door.

Pretty. Interesting. Pretty interesting.

It should have some rudimentary winter interest, right? 

Nope. No interest here. Just sadness.

Oh yeah. The trellis broke. That's on my list of things to fix before spring gets here.

When I said that everything outside was brown, I wasn't including my flower beds. Those still have plenty of green:

The wrong kind of green, eh?

Yeah that's a nice carpet of chickweed, bittercress, oxalis and some wild onion thrown in for good measure. 2014: the year when I finally get some mulch delivered. 

It's Not All Gloom and Doom!

Even through the brown reminders of things gone wrong, January still offers many promising sights:

My Japanese maple still retains grace and a certain beauty, even though most of its leaves have gone. The cascading winter form is a reminder of the wavy red foliage to come. 

Spring bulbs, though seemingly forgotten, are unfazed by frigid temperatures and march ever boldly towards their spring rendezvous with beauty. The Hyacinths were the first to see daylight:

Please ignore the thriving bittercress and chickweed... I already addressed the need for more mulch. 

Second to get in line for the spring bloom-a-thon are the dwarf Daffodils:

I think I made a good call, spreading a dozen or so clusters of these through my front flower beds. It should be quite a pretty show in another month or so! 

So what can you do in your garden in January? A fair amount; just not necessarily outdoors. I'll use the rest of the month to do some planning for the spring. Thinking about what plants I want to divide, what needs to be moved, and what needs to go away. Looking for soggy areas and plotting out new drains. This weekend I'm going to be surfing Pinterest and looking for trellis designs for my Clematis. Happy planning!

Field Trip! - JC Raulston Arboretum

The JC Raulston Arboretum is a serious contender for my favorite garden destination in the Triangle area of North Carolina. It's rather hard for me to pin down exactly why. Established in 1976, it's not the oldest. Occupying only 10 acres, it's far from the largest. But there's a ton of horticultural goodness crammed into that little space. Plants you've never heard of, plants you were sure could never be perennials in North America. No matter where you walk, there's a cool plant waiting to be discovered!

The essential information:

Name: JC Raulston Arboretum

Ownership: North Carolina State University - Maintained by the Department of Horticulture Science

Website: http://www.ncsu.edu/jcraulstonarboretum/index.php

Location: 4415 Beryl Road, Raleigh, NC 27606

Hours: 8AM - 8PM April through October; 8AM - 5PM November through March

Admission: FREE

When you first come to the Raulston Arboretum, the typical way to begin your tour is at the visitor's center. It's here you find maps, a small gift shop, and if you're lucky: the plant cart. This time we instead began our journey into the arboretum through it's considerable garden of succulents. Yucca, Aloe, Agave and other plants suitable for xeriscapes filled well-amended planting beds.

This is my poorly-stitched panoramic (sorry for the black squares!) aerial view of a portion of the garden.

What's most impressive about the garden is how natural it feels considering most of the plants are unnatural to the Carolinas.

This Agave was one of the larger plants present; each one of those leaves were about four to five feet long.

Agave 'Mr. Ripple'

Lest you should be temped to try incorporating similar plants in your own garden, be forewarned that these types of planting usually only look good when done large-scale. If you absolutely must have some Agaves or other plants in your landscape, you're better off with small groupings than a mass planting. 

The plant in the bottom right corner of that photo is Agave bracteosa 'Octopussy', and a rather old specimen at that. There was more to this plant than just a lump of foliage, however...

Can you see it? Look again...

That's right, this plant was particularly well suited as a hiding place for one of North Carlolina's native lizards, the Carolina Anole:

Anolis carolinensis

This fuzzy grass-like plant has a feathery prehistoric feel to it. Supposedly hardy to only 20-25°F, the grounds at the Raulston Arboretum are apparently warm enough to keep it around:

Rhodocoma capensis

A short distance down the path, I noticed a peculiar sight. What was it, a mushroom? 

After stopping to take a photo or two I noticed it: the odor. Not quite repulsive, but not pleasant either. There was a distinct aroma that can best be described as "wet feet and old sawdust". It really is as appealing as it sounds. Turns out these little guys are a species of miniature Arum, relatives to the Corpse Flower I missed seeing earlier this year.

Arum pictum

I want some! Sadly, it seems this plant is less than easy to track down. Forget about finding a live plant in a local garden center; you're better off with a merchant who deals in unusual bulbs.

Muhlenbergia 'Pink Flamingos' helps to add a nice Southwestern feel.

One of the things I haven't seen yet in any other arboretum is a rooftop garden. Constructed over a bank of meeting rooms, the garden illustrates the techniques that are prominent in modern urban construction. Just walking through it, you'd never realize you were on top of a building!

After seeing so many dwarf and colorful cultivars of Agave, I can see why people like them so much. Like so many other plants, I may have to try my hand at growing a few of these before too long. Time for a bigger yard!

Agave lophantha 'Splendida'

One of the cool things about the Raulston Arboretum is the prevalence of what I call "mini exhibits". There are informational displays set up all over the place. On the rooftop garden there were about a dozen planters set up to illustrate different of themes and plant ecotypes that can be used in planters. 

This planter is made from a material called hypertufa.

It's one of my short-term gardening goals to make some hypertufa planters. It's pretty simple, as outlined in this blog post: http://www.33shadesofgreen.com/2010/07/making-hypertufa-pots.html

Sedum 'Sweet Tea Mix'

One of the newest additions to the Raulston Arboretum is the rebuilt lath house, which houses all manner of rare, young shade plants. When the featured plants fill in a little more the area really will have a jungle-esque feel to it. 

As much of a self-professed plant geek I claim to be, I still hadn't heard of a lot of the plants in this garden. Take the one below, for example, I think it looks like a weed:

Acanthus sennii

So it still looks a little bit like a weed. A pretty, prickly weed, but still. This plant is native to Ethiopia and often grown in hedgerows. Small wonder!

Now would be a good time for a quick and dirty introduction to the term 'cultivar'. The simplest way that I can think to put it is this: Imagine you have a group of plants. Most plants reproduce via the process of flowering and seeding. Traits from two parent plants are passed down to the offspring. Occasionally, thanks to genetic variability, there will be an offspring plant that has significantly improved qualities when compared to the parent plants. Once this plant is identified and selected, it is propagated asexually, so as to preserve its desirable traits and eliminate genetic variability. This plant is then given a cultivar name and becomes known by its defining characteristics. 

Thus, we have a cultivar of Acanthus which is quite distinct from the species pictured above: 

Acanthus 'Morning Candle'

Gone is the sprawling, unkempt growth habit. It is replaced by tidy mounding foliage and attractive flower stalks. 

There was quite a bit more to see in the lath house than I was able to get photos of. 

But I just couldn't pass up an opportunity to photograph one of my favorite fall flowers: The Happy Little Trycyrtis, a.k.a. the Toad Lily. This is a variegated cultivar named 'Imperial Banner': 

While kind of interesting from a distance, the combination of foliage and flower is spectacular close up!

Who wouldn't like this? Really?

Thankfully, well-designed arboretums provide more than just pretty plants. They also offer ideas and inspiration for the rest of your garden as well.

So when you're at the NC State Fair sometime in the next two weeks, make some time to stop by the JC Raulston Arboretum. It's only about three minutes down the road!

Confessions of a Plant Geek's Wife - #2: As Far as You Know...

As far as you know, I'm just the plant geek's wife.  And that's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh...  sorry.  My geek is showing.

Yes, blissful ignorance.  It's how I would characterize the role I play in this relationship.  I'm the sidekick.  The Robin to his Batman.  The Barney to his Andy.  The Donkey to his Shrek. The Ron to his Harry.  The Patrick to his Spongebob.  Pardon, my geek is showing again.  Also: Why is it that all the best sidekicks I could come up with were all male duos?

Anyway, I'm the background chick.  He's the guy with all the plant smarts, and I'm just tagging along, occasionally handing off a spade or set of pruners to our hero, and providing witless entertainment.  And that's pretty sad because I'm not all that entertaining.  The point, however, is that I am decidedly NOT a plant geek.  Not really.  Not like him.  That's all you really need to know.

But here's the rest of the story:

Being married to a bonafide plant geek, some of this plantial awareness (I made a new word!) tends to rub off on you, whether you realize it (or want it to) or not.  As much as I may try to deny it, words and phrases like "variegated," "root system," "dormant," "taking a cutting," "spittlebug," and so forth have become ingrained in my vocabulary.

Yes, you have seen this before.  Now you know what causes it.

Go here for the original photo and an informational blog post about the spittlebug.

So when someone says how they are confused about why their beautiful (tropical) plant thrived last summer but never came back... Or comments to a friend that they recently paid someone to prune their crepe myrtles (which now look like toothpick trees)...  I admit that I cringe a little, and then I turn to another conversation.  When someone comes to me and says that they really want Joe to come and look at their hostas because they aren't doing well and it doesn't make sense because they made sure to plant it where it would get plenty of sun, I just smile and say something like "I'm sure he could help you with that."

Only you can stop crepe murder.

Go here for the original photo and a blog post about

the Grumpy Gardener's annual crepe murder contest.

The reality is that I'm slowly being assimilated into the plantdom (I made another word!).  My confession is that I know more about plants than I let on.  But the point is that I don't let on.  And I've plenty of excellent reasons why not, but here are just a few random ones:

Vague = annoying.
I've heard his stories about how he worked in a retail garden center and people would come in with vague questions and expect him to know all the answers.  If you walk up to a garden center employee and say "I saw this vibrant red bush planted at the end of someone's driveway.  Do you know what it is?"  Well, odds are he may have an idea, but that's not much to go on.  How many times have you asked a "plant person" about that random flower you saw growing on the side of the road?  He probably asked you for more information, right?  Where was it growing?  Was it a dry area or a wet area?  What color was the flower?  Was it a lone flower, or in a cluster?  Were there several flowers on the same plant?  What kind of leaves did it have?  How tall was it?  Even an expert can only be as helpful as the questions posed to him.  I really hate when people ask vague questions, and with all the diplomacy I pride myself on, I don't think it would end well.  I leave those vague questions to him.

Now what?
I actually don't really enjoy talking about plants that much.  There are a few that spark my interest, and sure I have a hard time walking out of a garden center empty-handed, but as a topic of conversation?  Let's just say I prefer to tell Joe what I like and what I don't like, and let him figure out what works from that.  If people were aware that I actually knew a thing or two about plants, they might start thinking that they could save time by talking to me instead of Joe.  I'll spare you the awkwardness and inform you now:  no matter how much I learn, you'll still save time by talking to Joe.  I might know enough to tell you that you're doing it wrong, but I probably don't know enough to tell you exactly how to do it right.  And those conversations get awkward and boring, fast.

For king and country.
Suppose I start to let on that I'm actually learning something by osmosis of being married to a plant geek.  Imagine the chaos!  All the single ladies (maybe the men too) would start looking for plant geeks as their potential mates so that they could all learn more about plants.  It's like having a live-in teacher.  No agriculture, botany, or horticulture degree for me, thanks.  It's much more cost-effective to just know a plant person and slowly take in all the planty wisdom.  Colleges would lose money, making it even more expensive for those taking other majors.  Those other majors would have to charge consumers more for their services once they began working, in order to pay back the tremendous student loans.  NC State and other schools with large plant-related departments would probably be forced to close their doors completely.  Imagine the loss of jobs!  There would be so many "homeschooled" plant peeps that the industry would be overrun with horticulturists and there would be more plant peeps than plant jobs.  There would be a garden center on every corner, and eventually the overabundance of plants would result in a jungle-like environment of invasive species and vigorous reseeders.  Simply by giving people the impression that I'm learning something just by being married to a plant geek could lead to a societal and economical collapse!

Plants gone wild...er?

Go here for the original photo.

So yes, as far as you know, I'm just the sidekick and I don't really know anything about plants.  For society's sake and well-being, I'll continue to smile, listen, and politely direct your questions to Joe.  Only you who have read this blog will know and understand the importance of my feigned ignorance, and the gravity of my necessary silence.  That's just the way it has to be.