New York, Plants & Other Stuff

Planted Cloud is Live!

2010-09-09T09:00:00.000-07:00

Allow me to introduce my new blogging home: Planted Cloud.

Though I had promised earlier to name my new blog, DC, Plants and Other Stuff, I've decided to blog on a more global scale. I've been too lucky to travel so much to simply blog about one city's horticultural offerings. I'm also looking for contributors to post on a monthly level -- if you are interested, please email me.

Thank you, dear reader, for visiting this site. I've enjoyed blogging NYPAOS more than I ever expected. I've been neglectful this summer, but hope to make it up to you at my new home.

Fondly,
Jennifer

Excuses, Excuses

2010-08-06T07:27:00.000-07:00

Hello!

Forgive me (SO MUCH) for not blogging for an entire month. It's terrible! Some of you know I am in transition. I started my own office, Jennifer Horn Landscape Architecture, this year and things are getting quite hectic. I also have moved to DC which makes this blog title a little inaccurate.

I think I have finally figured out a new title (ultimately, I decided against DC, Plants and Other Stuff) and hope to launch in the next week. Please be sure to visit me for the link when it finally is ready for viewing.

Thanks!!!!

Jennifer

Mauna Kea and Hawaiian Blueberry

2010-06-29T06:37:00.000-07:00

One of the places I absolutely *had* to visit when I was on the Big Island was Mauna Kea, Hawaii's tallest mountain, reaching a height of 13,900' above sea level. Technically, it's the world's biggest mountain, measuring 30,000' from the base, which is at the bottom of the sea, to the tip.

It's also the site of the world's largest astronomical observatory, with 13 telescopes representing 11 different countries. The air in this microclimate is the some of the driest on earth, second only to Antarctica. This, in addition to the absence of cloud cover and light pollution, makes for excellent astronomical viewing conditions.

Warned that going to the summit individually is quite difficult (you definitely need four-wheel drive) and reluctant to bring a bunch of winter gear with me from the mainland (it's a chilly 32° at the summit) I signed up for a tour with Mauna Kea Summit Adventures. The tour picked me up at 4pm, and along with about 12 other people, we had a picnic dinner at the visitors center (elevation 9000') before going to the summit for sunset.

After the sunset, we descended back to 9000' for some stargazing. I saw Saturn and its rings, the Omega Centauri, constellations Sagittarius, Virgo and Leo, as well as the beautiful binary star, Albireo. We also learned a fair amount about night viewing and general astronomy. It was an excellent tour and quite educational. By the time I got back to the hotel, nearing midnight, I was more than a little awestruck by how truly insignificant we are and by the incomprehensible age of the galaxies. (Light years, as a concept, always trips me up. The Omega Centauri is around 15,000 light years away. I see it, but because of its distance, it may not really be there anymore. Only in 15,000 years could someone know if it existed in 2010. Discussing this brain-bending concept with the tour guide, he quipped, 'I think that's why insanity is more common among quantum physicists and astronomers.' ...I can't verify that, but can imagine that the sense of profound insignificance, combined with the fact that - in such a profession - you ask questions that can never be truly answered, may be a bit maddening at times.)

I suppose that's why I prefer plants. There aren't a lot in this biome, but there were enough. I saw the plant below when we stopped for a photo-op at around 11,000'. Does it look familiar to any east coasters?

Those bell-shaped flowers are a clue, perhaps. Also maybe the reddish hue to the foliage...But who am I kidding, you read the post title so you know it's a blueberry, or Vaccinium reticulatum. In Hawaii the plant is commonly called the 'ohelo. There are two species of Vaccinium in Hawaii, and both have some subspecies, too, varying slightly among the different Hawaiian islands. V. reticulatum is found in open woodlands and high elevations, while V. calycinum is found in wet, wooded areas.

The plant's berries, like our more local V. corymbosum, V. caesariense, or V. angustifolium, make wonderful jams or jellies or can be eaten fresh. They can be picked by visitors and locals but the maximum takeaway is 1 quart when picking in parkland. That's because the plant provides habitat and food to two endemic moths as well as the endangered nene, or Hawaiian goose.

Cibotium glaucum

2010-06-23T06:52:00.000-07:00

On Monday I mentioned the tree ferns that populate the forests near the active volcano at Volcanoes National Park. Today, we'll take a closer look at the Hawaiian tree fern, or Cibotium glaucum, or hapu'u.

As you can see from the photo above, Cibotium can reach heights up to 8 meters. I encountered this forest - the upper canopy consisting of ohi'a and the understory of hapu'u - while walking to the Thurston Lava Tube in the park. The scale of these beautiful plants is awesome, in the truest sense of the word.

The fronds have a pure, clear green color, with small leaflets. The plant can be propagated by spores - the ones on the youngest fronds are usually most fertile.

The fiddleheads are actually the size of real fiddle or violin heads. Much like other ferns, frying or boiling the heads is part of the local cuisine.

The plants' trunk can be edible as well, but is not very tasty. I read on one site that the trunk is considered "famine food."

In addition to the edible parts of the plant, the shaggy base of the trunk - or the pulu - has been used as a soft filling for pillows and mattresses. This use reached a peak in the mid 19th century and large swaths of tree fern forests were almost irreparably degraded. Much like I mentioned Monday in regards to Metrosideros, these forests are now more carefully managed.

Metrosideros polymorpha (and Volcanoes!)

2010-06-21T14:22:00.000-07:00

Well, I got back from Hawaii on Saturday and am now squarely within my last days as a full time New Yorker. I'll most likely work Monday - Wednesday for the next three weeks then finish up at my job (save a few hourly tasks to wrap up my Hawaii project).

Hawaii was wonderful, and thank goodness I scheduled three days on the Big Island. Otherwise, I'm afraid I would have spent far too much time "on call" for work, even if I officially had the day off. I highly HIGHLY (HIGHLY!) recommend the Big Island to any Hawaii-bound individual that is even a casual naturalist. The variety of ecosystems and the rugged beauty of this - the youngest of the Hawaiian islands - place is stunning.

I flew into Kona last Monday morning and immediately set off for Volcanoes National Park. "Why, it's only 90 miles!" I thought to myself, "I'll be there well within 2 hours."

Not so much. The winding roads through the big island - and their ever-changing elevations - definitely slows down the works and driving 90 miles really requires at least 2.5 hours of driving. Of course, as soon as I got to Volcanoes National Park and saw the Kīlauea Crater spewing sulfurous fumes, all that driving was worth it.

Large parts of the park were closed on my recent visit, since the volcano has been acting a bit differently lately. A few weeks ago it began spewing lava in a new location and as a result, the gases have been considered too dangerous to inhale in certain areas. If I had stayed 'til dark, I would have been able to see the red glow of lava further along the edges of the park (at the crater itself it primarily flows underground), but I wasn't up for a long, winding drive at night.

Now then. Let's get to the plants. It's pretty amazing to see a shrub with such a lovely flower on it blooming with an active volcano so nearby. This plant is Metrosideros polymorpha or ōhiʻa lehua. If it looks familiar, you could (maybe, possibly) remember a post I wrote that had some shots of Callistemon citrinus. These plants are both in the Myrtaceae or myrtle family and their flowers (with diminutive petals and brightly-colored, showy stamens) are quite similar.

This species of Metrosideros is endemic to Hawaii, meaning that it can only be found in the Hawaiian islands. Though it does have relatives in New Zealand that are quite similar. The species itself is highly variable and over the years varieties of Metrosideros polymorpha have been further categorized into new species, all equally endemic to Hawaii. Some of the variations we find among the Hawaiian species include the hairiness of the leaves (hairier in drier climates, as the hairs trap ambient moisture) and the color of the leaves (changing from green to greenish-gray to gray).

The species itself is highly adaptable. It can maintain itself as a small shrub or tower to 20+ meters. The incredibly light seeds can blow for miles in the wind and this is partly why the plant is often the first colonizer of post-volcanic, lava-laden landscapes. As it colonizes a lava field, it begins to degrade the rock into soil and provides perching locations for birds. Ultimately, the landscape succeeds into a fern forest, as can be found just a mile away from the Kīlauea crater itself (more on the ferns this week).

I was all too excited to pick up a book at the Volcanoes National Park visitor's center - Hawaii's Plants and Animals: Biological Sketches of Hawaii Volcanoes National Park - and it's a terrific read so far. When I was reading about Metrosideros the authors noted a curious phenomena with this plant: at times, massive swaths of ōhiʻa will die out. When biologists at the park first documented this, they immediately investigated whether a foreign pest or disease was the cause of such dieback, but no culprit was found. Instead, they can only determine that a heavy rain or drought can trigger this mass death. It seems to be part of the evolutionary hardwiring of the plant. Today that is problematic because, given the pervasiveness of the alien plant Pennisetum, the former ōhiʻa forests can be quickly invaded by this weed and prohibit young ōhiʻa to take root. Forecasting ōhiʻa dieback and managing the re-population of young ōhiʻa is a chief concern for land managers on the big island today.

Aloha from the Honolulu Zoo

2010-06-07T11:07:00.000-07:00

I spent the afternoon yesterday strolling around the Honolulu Zoo. To be honest, my nostalgic parents had me on a mission. In 1981, we were in Honolulu for a few day during our move to Kuala Lumpur. We went to the zoo and my folks took a snapshot of my brother and me. They understandably want the same shot, 29 years later. How could I turn them down? Perhaps if they scan the old one and send it to me, I can put a "before and after" up, for kicks.

The Honolulu Zoo is a modest one, small, probably around 50 acres I would guess. The signage is some locations is quite old and of course, their fake rock concrete walls are distant ancestors to some of the fancier work you can see these days, like at my old workplace, the Bronx Zoo.

But none of that matters much if the animals are engaged, physically and mentally. And that seems to be the case for most of the tenants here.

Their African Savannah walk is small but the moats are laid out sensibly and you get pretty intimate views of the animals. It was the closest I'd been to these animals (except for one behind the scenes experience at the Bronx Zoo with a giraffe - the feeder let me pet her nose!).

I'd also say the keepers have a good sense of humor. Apparently they have rhinos that could be mating. Rather than close the exhibit so that the rhinos' "rough behavior" would be behind closed doors, they simply informed the public about what they could possibly see.

And this sweet sign must have been in response to concerned questions from visitors. It still tickles me they named him Bobbles. Unfortunately I didn't spot Bobbles yesterday.

Kalmia latifolia

2010-06-02T05:31:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned earlier this week, I've been doing a lot of traveling lately. Last Tuesday I went to Ocean City, New Jersey to meet with the town's Environmental Commission to talk about native plants. Two weekends before, I was helping my mom out with some spring cleaning. When I was on the bus going home after that weekend, I noticed tiny hints of pink in the woods next to the Garden State Parkway. I knew immediately that they were Kalmia latifolia or Mountain Laurel.

People who have tried to get this plant to thrive in their garden probably look at this shot of Kalmia, growing beautifully on the side of the Garden State Parkway, and grit their teeth. The plant is notoriously difficult. As the common name implies, the plant does best in well drained soil (like, on the sides of mountains, or here, in extremely sandy soil). I see it in South Jersey a lot and of course, it's ubiquitous in the Appalachian.

Kalmia is in the Ericaceae or blueberry family. The foliage and its need for acidic soil is similar to another Ericaceous plant, the Rhododendron. But the flowers are quite unique. I love the flower buds before they open - they look almost like the hard candy cake decorations you can buy at the grocery store.

The plant is called Kalmia after Pehr Kalm who sent samples of the plant to Linnaeus. Latifolia means wide leaves.

This is a very, very pale pink plant, but you can find deeper pinks, like the color of ballet shoes. In either case, they are lovely.

I'm sending this out from Hawaii, so, Aloha! I'll be tweeting pictures occasionally, but won't be blogging much.

Mystery Geranium??

2010-06-01T06:49:00.000-07:00

Goodness. Things here have been busy. I am (most likely) going back to Hawaii this Thursday. ...The construction schedule on that job isn't a moving deadline so much as a sprinting deadline. Every day is different story/crisis/strategy. I'll be in Hawaii for a week for work and then, hopefully, another whole week for vacation. I'm hoping to spend some time on the Big Island, to visit Volcanoes National Park, Mauna Kea and Rainbow Falls. If you have any recommendations for hotels (particularly in the Hilo area) please let me know!

In addition to an upcoming trip, I have an upcoming move and have been consistently setting up appointments with clients in the DC area. I've spent so much time on a bus between NY, NJ, DC and Philly lately, I'm beginning to feel like Ratso Rizzo (though hopefully sans the untimely end).

To wit: I've been neglecting this blog a bit and haven't been snapping many photos. It's gotten so bad that I had to consult the archives and find a photo from this time last year.

Which brings me to the Geranium species we have here, growing in the Liz Christy Garden. At first, I cavalierly applied the species name maculatum to this plant, but then wondered, could it be G. sanguineum instead? Or maybe it's G. macrorrhizum, the bigroot geranium (presumably the roots are big because it has a particularly good symbiotic relationship with mvcorrhiza the nitrogen-fixing fungus beneficial to so many plants). Suffice to say, I am stumped. Wikipedia states that there are over 400 species of this genus and I just don't feel equipped to hazard a guess. For all I know it could be cultivated so aggressively that it's no longer applied to any species (see Geranium 'Rozanne'). If you have a guess or you outright know what this plant is, please do share with us!

Now then, a bit about the genus itself. The common name for Geranium is cransebill. That's because when the flower goes to seed, it forms a tall column of seeds that will spring open when they are ready to be spread. The column itself looks like the bill of a crane. This also accounts for the plant's scientific name - geranos is an ancient Greek word for 'crane'. The perennials are generally hardy and bloom this time of year in shades of pink, blue and white. I love the foliage which has a sharp aroma when crushed.

You could be wondering, but this plant doesn't look like the annual geraniums I buy...! That's because the geraniums sold as annual plants are technically Pelargonium. They used to be classified as the same genus but have since been separated into its own genus.

Green Hawthorn

2010-05-26T06:23:00.000-07:00

I was in my old neighborhood in the Lower East Side yesterday and saw a row of trees from across the street. I thought they may have been hawthorns, though was doubtful. It would seem like they would have been long past blooming this late in the spring. But sure enough, I found the entire block of Stanton Street was planted with Crataegus viridis or green hawthorn.

As you can see from the photo below, the bloom has dulled a bit and I'm sure these specimens looked much better a week ago. But I've wanted to blog about this plant for so long and have yet to get around to it so I'm not going to wait a whole other year!

Crataegus viridis is a small ornamental flowering tree with corymbs of white flowers in mid spring. The flowers are not as showy or colorful as a Malus or Prunus but they are quite lovely. And hawthorns have several other advantages to offer. Namely, depending on the cultivar, the plant is laden with showy, persistent berries in the fall and winter. 'Winter King' has long been a favorite due to it's gorgeous fruit set each year.

New leaves are quite different in shape
than the more mature ones.

Another advantage is this plant's status as a native to the southeastern US. Perhaps related to this, the plant is very tough and is not prone to the many diseases that haunt crabapples.

The bark is somewhat fibrous looking,
with longer vertical splits.

Finally, hawthorns provide habitat to many local wildlife species. The berries provide food for birds and the plant itself is a great supporter of butterflies. In fact, wikipedia has a great list of butterfly and moth species that find sustenance from this tree. However, one species that does not like the hawthorn is deer. Which is another terrific advantage. For the most part, deer avoid foraging on this tree, unless they are really, really hungry.

This could have something to do with the large thorns on the tree as well. The one above is a new thorn, but as they age, they harden into sharp, woody needles. I was on a job site at the zoo once and (not prepared, and wearing the wrong type of shoe) a needle went clear through the sole of my shoe and into my heel. It hurt. A lot.

Hawthorns are named as such because one definition of "haw" is "fruit". It can also mean hedge and in England Crataegus monogyna is often used as a hedge. Crataegus itself is derivative of the Greek work 'kratos' which means 'strength'. The origin refers to the hardness of hawthorn wood.

Rosa rugosa

2010-05-24T07:03:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago I visited my folks at their place on the Jersey shore and was thrilled to see that the rugosa roses (Rosa rugosa) we planted last year are thriving. I can't say I was particularly worried about their survival -- rugosa roses are practically bulletproof, so long as they are planted someplace dry and sunny. Indeed, like the heroine in any bad chick-flick (I'm looking at you, Katherine Heigl), rugosa roses thrive on neglect.

The flower above is from one of the shrubs we planted at my folks' place. I prefer the single-flowering varieties, because I like seeing the very showy stamens. However the multi-flowering varieties are beautiful, too. The samples above and below are both hot pink, though you can find Rosa rugosa in red and white, as well.

Below is the same multi-flowering specimen, rambling along some beach fencing, not far from the spot where I posted some photos of Virginia Creeper a few autumns ago. As you can see, it's spreading prodigiously and since this shot is taken a few hundred yards away from the coastline you can surmise the plant can grow in 100% sand. In fact, it's often employed for dune restoration.

I love the thick, fleshy foliage of Rosa rugosa and the hips are quite showy as well. I've been told they can be used to make a wonderful tea.

Last summer, my parents needed a plant to use in the corner of their property, which is also at the intersection of two streets. I insisted they plant this. It's not native, but it does have a cultural relevance to beach locations since it's ubiquitous in such areas. Rugosa rose was introduced to North America in the mid-18th Century and so far, the plant has not proven to be invasive. I've even seen this species appear on lists of acceptable dune restoration plants in townships that are strict about using native or ecologically-responsible species.

Of course, the plant is thorny as all-get-out. Which makes for a tricky installation, but does keep people from cutting across the corner of our yard. I wrapped the shrubs gently in old beach towels to place them and of course used heavy duty gloves. I am happy to say I walked away unscathed after planting them.

We only put three roses in an area that is probably about 200 square feet. It looked a bit spare last summer and I had to fight off my parents' urges to plant some perennials in the bare spots. But this year, the plant has already begun to sucker, and by next summer the area should be filled out. Just like that heroine in the bad chick flick, patience is a virtue.

Monkey Pod Tree

2010-05-18T06:57:00.000-07:00

I mentioned Albizia saman in last week's post about Asplenium and then promised to comment more on this lovely tree in the future. Well, that time is now.

First of all, what a beauty, eh? I am *in love* with the elegant, almost overreaching canopy. The form is so striking and, as common as this tree is in Oahu, I think I will always equate monkey pod tree with my wanderings on this trip.

Not that Albizia saman is native to the Hawaiian islands, it's instead native to Central and South America, distributed between Mexico and Brazil. Indeed, due to the region's geologic history, Hawaii is fairly sparse in terms of native plants. More often that not, the plants that are most popular here are native to other areas and were planted by colonists or passers-through. (Somewhat relevant to this information, in last week's post about breadfruit my friend Matthew asked if Artocarpus was endemic to Hawaii and it's not. It's native to the Malay peninsula and the surrounding islands.)

Here above is another shot of the tree pictured at the top of this post. You can gauge from the Monstera leaves below how big this trunk is. I'd say its diameter was probably around 9-10'. A woman at the Waimea Botanical Garden says the arborists speculate this specimen is over 200 years old. In that case it is quite like the "Samán de Güere" a Venezuelan national treasure and landmark. That specimen was originally recorded by Alexander von Humboldt, a German naturalist and one of the founders of biogeography, in his trip to South America between 1799 and 1804. You can see an old print of this Venezuelan icon here. Unfortunately, there's scant information about this tree online, in English (and my Spanish is pretty shoddy these days).

I know I'm quite smitten with a new species when I have a ton of photos of the feature I like so much (in this case, the branching habit) and one cursory shot of another key characteristic (in this case, the leaves). In fact, I was relieved to find I had even one picture of the species' pinnately compound leaves. Knowing that the leaves are pinnately compound, you could hazard a guess that Albizia is a member of the pea or legume family, and you'd be right. Technically these days, you'd say it is a member of the Fabaceae family, though Leguminosae is still commonly used and considered acceptable. In either case, Fabaceae trees have similar leaves and pea-pod like fruits. Other species of this family which we have previously discussed are Gleditsia, Robinia, Sophora, Lupinus, Cercis and Cladrastis.

Finally, on a very unscientific note, every time I look at this photo, I can hear Meryl Streep saying in her Danish accent "I had a farm in Africa ." Indeed, monkey pod tree is related to Albizia amara, a tree that is found in the dry scrublands between Sudan and South Africa.

Artocarpus atilis

2010-05-12T08:02:00.001-07:00

Here in Waimea Valley Botanical Garden, we now visit the breadfruit tree, or Artocarpus atilis. I saw this tree elsewhere in Honolulu and was always struck by the huge feathery leaves. With such big leaves (check out the bottom pic, my foot's about 8" long so the leaf must be close to 20") you'd expect a coarser texture in the canopy but the deep narrow leaf sinuses soften the whole look.

Sadly, this member of the mulberry (Moraceae) family was not in fruit, as I would have loved trying it out. It's called breadfruit, obviously enough, because the plant is very, very starchy. It's about a quarter carbs and the rest is water. Because of it's starchiness, it's often baked or fried.

Breadfruit is also a very high-fruiting tree, producing impressive fruit yields. In fact, Captain William Bligh and his infamous Bounty crew was tasked with harvesting breadfruit from Tahiti so the British could cultivate it in the Caribbean. They aimed to do so because the plant would be a fast and cheap source of food for British slaves. Ugh.

Artocarpus is literally Greek for breadfruit. Artos means bread and carpus means fruit or body.

Bird's Nest Fern

2010-05-10T06:25:00.000-07:00

We have talked about epiphytes a few times on this blog and really, there can't be a better place to revisit the subject than in a valley forest in Hawaii. Below, you can see several different epiphytes growing in the canopy of a monkey pod tree (Albizia saman, more on that later).

Perhaps most beautiful are the apple green leaves of bird's nest fern (Asplenium nidis). Bird's nest ferns share their genus with 700 other species, some of which are very similar and often confused with Asplenium nidis.

This particular species can grow in trees as it is above or can grow terrestrially. They are also popular houseplants. Many of the species of Asplenium are generally referred to as spleenworts. This knowledge may give us pause as we consider the genus name again: Asplenium literally means "without spleen". It was thought, due to the spleen-shaped spores on some species of this genus, that this plant would help reduce swelling of the spleen.

Above you see some additional epiphytes, including staghorn fern (Platycerium) and what appears to be an epiphytic bromeliad, perhaps Nidularium.

Spathoglottis plicata

2010-05-06T06:47:00.000-07:00

Spathoglottis plicata is another one of the plants I saw on my nursery visits in Oahu. I was struck by the great, strappy leaves - they almost remind me of Acorus leaves. And of course, I am an absolute sucker for this shade of deep pink. I love it.

Even from afar, something about this plant says 'orchid' and sure enough when you look at the individual flowers, they look like miniature Vandas. Unlike Vanda, Spathoglottis is a terrestrial orchid, that is, they don't grow epiphytically. Instead they grow in soil like any other herbaceous plant.

Spathoglottis literally means 'spathe tongue' and refers to the tongue-like flower lip. Plicata means 'pleated' and refers to the leaves.

Traveler's Palm

2010-05-04T05:49:00.000-07:00

This recent trip turned me around when it comes to Ravenala madagascariensis, or traveler's palm. Previously, I had kinda pooh-poohed it. The form is just so...unnatural for a tree. People always seem to plant them because they like the flat rigid form then are dismayed when they see the wind shred the leaves to tatters. It always seemed a bit...gimmicky.

And if I had only encountered this plant in Waikiki then I think my opinion would remain unchanged. But luckily I went to the north shore for some vacation time after my site work and stumbled upon the Waimea Valley Botanical Garden. I was going to Waimea valley primarily to seek out the waterfall, so imagine my delight when I saw there were thousands of plants, all with labels.

I can only imagine how difficult it is to maintain a garden in a jungle valley and sure enough the landscape of the Waimea Valley Botanical Garden is sprawling and a bit shaggy. Personally, I preferred that; it would just seem wrong for a tailored garden to appear in a site like this. And I especially liked encountering this massive clump of traveler's palm growing alongside a path. It reminded me of the many people who have sought fresh water in the crevices of the leaves while on long, isolating treks (indeed, this is why the plant is called traveler's palm). Someday, when I have my Hawaiian villa, I think I will grow a few traveler's palms and let them run wild, clumping into an almost unmanageable grove.

Despite the use of "palm" in the common name, Ravenala madagascariensis is actually more closely related to bird-of-paradise (Strelitzia reginae) than any true palm. The flowers are similar too, though Strelitzia's blossoms are more colorful and a bit 'neater' looking.

Finally, as the species name would imply, this plant is not only native to Madagascar but is endemic to the island. It is not found in the wild anywhere else. In fact, many posit that the traveler's palm and one of its pollinators, the ruffled lemur co-evolved. This is likely based on the shape and size of the lemurs muzzle and the Ravenala's blossom.

Cycas circinalis

2010-05-03T12:09:00.000-07:00

Most of my work in Waikiki was on-site, coordinating installation and making sure that all the plant material was acceptable for installation. But on Friday, I was able to spend the day with the landscape contractor, visiting various plant nurseries on the island. I was to inspect the plants that had been tagged for our installation as well as look for some additional plants to use.

Spending a day walking around plant nurseries in the company of someone who could answer me knowledgeably every time I pointed at something and said "What's that?!" is pretty much my idea of heaven (or at least one of them). It was a great day.

We started out heading to nurseries in Mililani Town then headed north to Wahiawa. I'll spend a few posts sharing pics of the plants I saw during this excursion. First up, Cycas circinalis or queen sago.

Most people probably know the king sago (Cycas revoluta), though I like this plant more; the leaves are much less spiny and the long, feathery fronds are quite beautiful in the sun. The term cycad refers to the plants in the Cycas genus as well as all plants in the Cycadophyta division. They are generally all living fossils and have a fossil record that dates back to the Early Permian Period, 280 million years ago. Cycadaecae family plants are somewhat younger, having only existed for the past forty-odd million years - their earliest fossils have been found in China and Japan. The earliest human documentation of Cycas occurred in the 9th Century, when Arab naturalists noted its use by Indians to produce flour.

The specimens at this nursery have been 'limbed up' to show the plant's trunk. Our plan for the site (these were tagged by our consultants) will be to let the lower fronds stay put, giving an overall effect of a feathery, floating plant. However, I have to say there's some profound beauty in the shadows that are cast by these leaves.

From Oahu to Washington

2010-04-30T11:32:00.000-07:00

Well, I got back from Hawaii on Wednesday and am still kinda struggling with jetlag (and the pile of emails that I've yet to address). A couple people have written me messages regarding this blog and if you are reading this, thank you! I will get back to you soon. I promise.

Areca palms (Dypsis lutescens) at a
plant nursery in Wahiawa.

Between site work and my free time in Oahu, I took about 1200 photos! I will do you, dear reader, the favor of not sharing them all. (And indeed, I can't post work photos, which is a shame since the work was quite fun.) I'll sort through some of the best pics and pepper in posts from Hawaii in the months to come.

View northeast from Diamond Head summit

It's also as good a time as any to announce that I'll soon be moving away from New York. This summer I will relocate to Washington DC. My 11 years in Manhattan have been wonderful, but it's time for a change. I hope to freelance and slowly build a practice of my own in the region where I was first introduced to the worlds of horticulture and landscape design. The fact that my parents, brother and sister live there certainly sweetens the deal.

Haleiwa Town on the North Shore

I've always struggled with classifying myself as a "New Yorker" -- but this trip to Hawaii brought some of my New York characteristics into comic relief. While hiking at Diamond Head, I could precisely time when to pass other hikers with the agility of one who regularly walks on crowded Soho sidewalks, darting tourists along the way. A couple from Vancouver actually started following me, impressed with my steady (but polite - really!) progress to the summit.

Can you spot the sea turtle?

I wore my Yankees ballcap everywhere, trying to avoid getting too tan. On the north shore, a couple heard me approach the hotel elevator and held the door for me. When I entered the car, sure enough, the woman was wearing a Red Sox hat. We mock-gruffly nodded to each other, amused to find rival fans so far from the east coast.

Mineral falls, Waimea Valley, North Shore

(yes, that's me in the ballcap).

As a New Yorker, I was startled to find such scant Hispanic influence in Hawaii. It's obvious enough that there wouldn't be a large Hispanic culture, but I still found myself surprised to find the second language in Honolulu is Japanese. Not that my Spanish is particularly great -- these days it mostly consists of sentences used in MTA ads ("si ve algo, di algo").

Mango farms, flanked by Norfolk Island Pine
(Araucaria heterophylla).

And bagels. God, let's talk about bagels. I may be a reluctant New Yorker, but my pride in our wonderful bagels is only equal to my dismay when I rediscover this truth, which happens to be every time I leave the five boroughs. I met a woman in Waikiki who asked (upon noting my hat) if I was a New Yorker. She was from Centereach, Long Island. The next thing she said (quite woefully, I might add): "I miss bagels."

Dole Pineapple Plantation (an aside: when in Hawaii,
it's always worth it to spring for the convertible)

I love New York, in the deep, complicated, and at times barbed, way one loves a former lover. I want what's best for New York. I'm a little bit afraid of what life will be like without New York. But I know that it's time to leave New York, before I become embittered by New York. I'll visit often (and will continue to teach plants at Columbia). But it's time to be on less intimate terms with New York.

Ironwoods (Casuarina equisitifolia),
Sunset Beach, North Shore

Now then, what to do with this blog? For the next month or two, I'll continue to blog at this site. Then I'll pick up right where I will leave off: DC, Plants & Other Stuff. It's a ridiculous title, but when I started this blog, I named it New York, Plants & Other Stuff because I really wasn't sure what the blog would be about. Over the years, it's crystallized into a site that celebrates the diminutive features of the plants all around us. I hope to continue a blog with the same tone in DC. I'll keep this site active and will most likely link to former posts regularly. I hope you join me as I move a few states south.

Okay, ONE pic of the site work. Shh, don't tell.

Aloha! ...And other stuff

2010-04-19T20:59:00.000-07:00

So, I am blogging today from beautiful, warm Honolulu, Hawaii.

I am here on a job until the end of next week. So my blog posts may be a bit spare. I had every good intention of blogging while here, but the first work day was pretty busy and I suspect that won't change. So, forgive me for a thin site this week.

But, before I go completely on hiatus, a few shots from Central Park, as of last week.

First up, Rhodotypos scandens, or jetbead.

Jetbead is one of those plants you never notice until it's blooming. It's a small, nondescript shrub with attractive jade-green foliage. But when it blooms, it's quite lovely. It used to be called white kerria, as the foliage resembles Kerria japonica but most people know it as jetbead now, named such for its black persistent berries. Rhodotypos is native to Japan and China and is invasive.

Another beauty in bloom right now is Halesia tetraptera or Carolina silverbell.

It's easy enough to discern why it's called silverbell; the lovely white blossoms hang like little bells. The seed pods are why it's given the species name tetraptera which literally means four-winged since the seed pods look like little starfruit.

This one below is a gorgeous mature specimen just northeast of the Central Park Bandshell.

That's it for now. I hope to tweet some photos from Hawaii this week so please follow me at twitter.com/jhornlandscape! If you don't well, then I will certainly have a wealth of blogworthy photos for when I'm back.

Crabapples

2010-04-14T06:01:00.000-07:00

Like last week's post on daffodils, today's post is sorely overdue. It's about one of my favorite spring-blooming ornamental trees: the crabapple.

I simply love crabapples. There's something so wild and unsophisticatedly beautiful about them. And of course, many of them are like the two specimens below: utterly laden with flowers.

I'd say this pink is just about the perfect hue (that is, until I consider the redbud, also blooming now). As you can see, the flowers open up a darker pink then slowly turn lighter. The single flowers of five petals are not as fussy or hybridized as the heavy double flowers of a cherry, and the stamens on a crabapple are quite showy too.

It probably seems a little silly to call a tree "unsophisticatedly beautiful" (and spell check disapproves) but if you look at the branching habit below, perhaps you'd agree. There's a stubby, wild character to the tree's overall shape that makes them appear a little less cookie-cutter than a flowering cherry. Though I'm sure we can find plenty of lollipop-shaped crabapple cultivars.

I'm not trying to make this blog post a "crabapple vs. cherry" discussion, but I often feel Malus is overlooked this time of year for the benefit of their showier relative (indeed both are in the Rosaceae family). And... since we're enumerating the merits of this plant, I'd have to add crabs have lovely fall color and showy fruit (though, cherries have good fall color too).

Crabapples or Cherries? It's like Betty or Veronica, the Beatles or the Stones. What do you like most?

A bit on etymology: Malus is derivative for the Greek word for apple or the more general Greek word for fruit. The Latin word for apple is also Malus and, interestingly enough, the word for evil ('malum') derives from the word for apple. This evidently refers to the story of Adam and Eve and equating apples with evil. It's also worth noting that the precursor to this tale of an infamous apple involves the Greek Goddess of Discord, Eris. Eris was miffed because she wasn't invited to a wedding, so she tossed an apple engraved with "for the most beautiful" to the wedding guests in a strange yet successful attempt to rile up the competitive spirits of Hera, Athena and Aphrodite.

From the NYBG Orchid Show

2010-04-13T08:40:00.000-07:00

If you didn't make it to the NYBG Orchid Show last week, then my apologies. It was a really lovely exhibit with what seemed to be tens of thousands of orchids.

I could spend weeks sharing photos and information about the difference species of orchids on display, but it's spring so I'd rather get on to all that is in bloom. A lot of what's in bloom have been covered before by this blog, such as: Cornus florida, Cherries, Virginia Bluebells, Muscari, Fothergilla and Magnolia soulangiana. But there's a lot that have yet to debut on this site, and I need to get to work.

In the meantime, here's some gorgeous orchids to get you inspired about the garden indoors.

Phalaenopsis

Cattleya (I think!)

Vandas

xDoritaenopsis

Odontocidium

Wilsonara

Finally, I must have had some case of orchid fatigue, because I didn't note what these species were. I loved them ,though - so different from a florist's orchid. If you know the species please write in!

I loved this - the long, thin sepals and mottling color. I just wish I wrote the name down! Alas, next year....

Corylopsis glabrescens

2010-04-08T06:40:00.000-07:00

Here's another new plant (for me): Corylopsis glabrescens or fragrant winterhazel. I noticed this plant's not too far from the Callicarpa japonica I posted about last December.

This is the second Corylopsis species I have posted on this site; last March I put some pretty sub-par photos of Corylopsis pauciflora that was growing in the East Village. Like that species, one of the characteristics of Corylopsis that I like so much is the creamy whitish-green blossoms. Corylopsis is in the Witch Hazel or Hamamelidaceae family, though C. glabrescens is, without a doubt, the most fragrant.

This plant is native to Asia though has not be documented as invasive. It's quite tough and I'm very partial to the fuller flowers of this species (unlike the strappy flowers of witch hazel or the bell-shaped flowers of C. pauciflora).

Stachyurus praecox

2010-04-07T06:39:00.000-07:00

I absolutely love it when you are walking around some hidden corner of a botanical garden and discover a new plant - it's like finding a twenty dollar bill in recently-unpacked summer clothes. I saw this from afar and was intrigued. The hanging racemes almost looked like little beaded curtains.

Turns out this plant is Stachyurus praecox or spike-tail. It's a Japanese native with beautiful, creamy white flowers in racemes that are easily 6" long. Evidently the spring foliage is a bright chartreuse, however the fall color is unremarkable.

Stachy- means 'spike' and oura means 'tail'. Thus the genus name and common name both refer to the flowers. Praecox derives from the Latin word praecoquere which means 'early,' 'preripened' or 'unseasonable.' We can even break that word down further: prae means 'before' and coquere means 'to cook' or 'boil'.

These blossoms should last a bit longer, so if you check out the Orchid Show before it closes this Sunday, walk around to the south side of the conservatory and visit this hidden treasure.

That Big Magnolia, Scaled....Sort of

2010-04-06T12:57:00.000-07:00

As soon as I uploaded the photos I took of yesterday's giant star magnolia, I regretted that I hadn't taken a photo of it with a person or some other way to scale it.

Sure enough, within moments of publishing yesterday's post, I got an email asking how big it really was.

With some irreverence, I've attached a picture of the tree with Shaquille O'Neal photoshopped next to it. The Shaq's about 7' 1". I think he's pasted into this photo at about the right size, making this specimen about 45-60' high. No promises on that estimate though!

The Biggest Star Magnolia I've Ever Seen

2010-04-05T13:55:00.000-07:00

So, I went to the NYBG's Orchid Show on Saturday, along with what seemed like most of the city. The conservatory was packed to the gills, but the show was lovely and one can't help but be awed by the quantity and variety of orchid species on display.

I'll certainly be posting about those plants in the weeks to come, but this week I'll focus instead on what's happening outdoors.

First up, this specimen, which is undoubtedly the biggest star magnolia (Magnolia stellata) I've ever laid eyes on. Amazing, isn't it? I've posted about Magnolia stellata before and have more than a few posts on the genus Magnolia as well. I don't have much to add today, save that I saw this at the NYBG grounds on the left of the path that leads directly to the conservatory from the cafe building. I was dumbstruck by the size and a little sheepish. I must have walked past this tree dozens of times and never paid much attention to it. Only when I saw it in bloom did I register what it was and how remarkable its size is. Shame on me.

It also made me a liar as far as my current students are concerned. Just last week we were speculating on the lifespan of this species. I guessed that they rarely last more than fifty odd years. However, this seemed to be grouped with some trees that were listed as 75-100 years old, so I would guess this specimen could easily be a septuagenarian!

Daffodil Season

2010-03-30T04:30:00.000-07:00

It seems downright insane that I have yet to blog about daffodils - at least not in any substantial manner. I mean, I'd say pretty much anyone with the most remedial plant knowledge would know a daffodil -- and most of those people would probably say they liked them, too, right? I mean, who doesn't like a daffodil?

The above is outside of Lewisohn Hall - the building that houses my department at Columbia. I have begun many first-day-of-class introductions outside that doorway and the red oak (Quercus rubra) you see in the courtyard is always featured as one of the first trees students will learn. The planting area looks pretty nifty right now, with hundreds of cyclamineus-type daffodils in bloom.

So. "Cyclamineus-type" daffodils -- what's that? Daffodils (or Narcissus) are classified into twelve (actually now, according to the American Daffodil Society, there are thirteen) divisions. Cycalmineus is one of the divisions and refers to the windswept or Cyclamen-like flowers.

Other divisions are named for the size of the flower's cup (the tubular part of the flower, technically called a corona) relative to the size of the floral leaves (or perianth). Both the flowers above and below have cups that are more than 1/3 the lengh of a petal, but don't exceed the petal's length, which means they are large cup division daffodils.

(By the way, even people who don't like bright yellow in the garden, can still have daffodils like the one above.)

If the cup was larger than the floral leaves (or if we want to be non-technical, the petals) they would be trumpet-type daffodils.

Other divisions include small cup, double-flowering, triandrus (or 'weeping'), jonquilas - which are small, fragrant and have one to three flowers per stem, tazettas (paperwhites), bulbocodiums - which have a very, very large cup and insignificant perianth, split-cupped (where as the name suggests, the corona is split into a 'second row' of petals), and division 12, which is a catch-all for types that don't fit in other categories. The ADS added the 13th division for wild, unhybridized types.

Lastly, I saved division 9 for last, since it's a favorite. They are the poeticus type daffodils, characterized by the extremely white perianth and small crinkled orange cup. Usually the cup is yellow with red trim. (I'll admit, this cup looks big for a poeticus and it could be a small cup type, but you get the idea. The true poeticus types are dashing.)

PS: I think we all know the story of Narcissus and his, well, narcissism. What I don't know is the story behind the common name daffodil - where that word came from. If anyone knows, please comment!

Ducks...

2010-03-26T06:37:00.000-07:00

I snapped this photo on a run last Tuesday morning, after another rainy, rainy night. It reminded me of when I worked at the zoo.

The Bronx Zoo is over 300 acres in size and is equipped with many small ponds and streams. Some of them are natural, others are by design. But all of them are quite lovely. And yet, after a storm, we'd inevitably find ducks sitting in oversized puddles.

One day, while walking to an exhibit which was under construction, a colleague stared at two ducks splashing around in a water-filled pothole. In mock exasperation, he plead to them, "There's a pond -- right over there! Why don't you use that?"

Passing these ducks in the ephemeral pool above - with the Harlem Meer just 100 yards away - reminded me of that. ...I suppose ducks like a bit of variety as much as any of us.

Have a good weekend!

Snow Azalea

2010-03-24T08:25:00.000-07:00

Well, first of all, if any common name conjured up the this time of year, I think it would have to be 'snow azalea' - the common name for Rhododendron mucronulatum. It's called that because it blooms so early in the spring that it could be sitting on a few inches of snow. I'm happy to say that when I encountered this plant this morning in Central Park, this was not the case.

On a personal note, this photo wasn't taken with my trusty Canon, but instead with a new toy - my new iPhone. There's a special joy in having this; now I can listen to streaming radio on a run in the park and take snapshots like this. Of course the quality's not quite as good, but it beats retracing my steps this Saturday with a regular camera, only to find the blooms have fallen.

Back to the plant. Rhododendron mucronulatum is native to Korea and parts of East Asia. It's natural habitat is on rocky slopes at elevations of one to five thousand feet. You can see how it would then enjoy this location, on a hillside in the park.

As I've mentioned before, Rhododendron, in Greek, literally means rose-tree (rhodo: rose; dendron: tree). The species name essentially means little points, referring to the small points on the end of the leaves. Evidently, when crushed, the leaves emit a pleasant fragrance. Though we need a bit more time before we can test that out.

Philly Flower Show, Odds & Ends

2010-03-19T06:10:00.000-07:00

A yellow theme, brought to you by a tulip company:

Eremurus stenophyllus, or desert candle:

Fritillaria persica:

A mailbox in a Beatles-themed garden. I'm not sure how that relates to the 'Passport to the World' theme, but what's not to like in a yellow submarine mailbox?

Veltheimia bracteata, or forest lily:

The Philly Flower Show - Brazil

2010-03-16T15:09:00.000-07:00

So as I mentioned last week, the Philadelphia Flower Show's theme this year was Passport to the World. There was some looseness as far as geographical boundaries go (as even the most pro-native plant person can be at times) - in one case a New World plant was used in a Central Asian exhibit, but for the most part, it worked.

This photo below (sadly unfocused; I'm still not an expert on flashless photography indoors with a budget friendly camera, in crowded conditions, no less) was of the Brazil exhibit.

I wish I had a better shot of the plants incorporated, particularly these two beauties below, but like any other site visit, you can take hundreds of photos and still wish you had a few more.

These are a cultivar of the vase plant, or Aechmea. The cultivar name is 'Del Mar'. The most common Aechmeas are the silver vases, or Aechmea fasciata, though I think these blue and white checkered flowers far outshine that species.

The common name vase plant is applied because the basal foliage is so tightly formed that the plant can collect water in its center, which helps the plant survive dry periods later on. Like Nepenthes this body of liquid is technically called phytotelma.

Aechmeas are in the Bromeliaceae family, a family of over 3000 species, half of which are epiphytes (like Spanish moss, another bromeliad). The remaining species are lithophytes or terrestrial plants. Lithophytes, as the name would imply, are plants that survive off of moss, old leaves or decaying matter. Of the terrestrial bromeliads, the most famous is likely to be Ananas comosus or the pineapple.

Nepenthes densiflora

2010-03-11T06:24:00.000-08:00

So how is it, that after more than two years of writing this blog, I've yet to mention what is perhaps the most infamous of plant types - the carnivorous plant? Well, I'll delay no longer and share some images of Nepenthes densiflora, which can also be referred to as pitcher plants or monkey cups.

To be utterly specific, the term pitcher plant refers to two different families of carnivorous plants: Nepenthaceae, which are old world vining plants and Sarraceniaceae, which are terrestrial new world pitcher plants. Nepenthes is the only genera in its family, whereas three genera exist in the Sarraceniaceae family.

Nepenthes leaves initially look quite ordinary, but soon a tendril forms at the tip which eventually becomes a pitcher or cup. The "lid" that forms above the pitcher is not to keep insects from escaping but instead is to protect the cup as it develops. When the pitcher is finally ready to capture its prey the lid opens more fully.

When the cup gets larger, it begins to inflate with air and consequently it collects liquid. The plant begins to emit an odor of nectar to entice insects. The insect enters the pitcher - perhaps alighting on the toothed peristome (rolled leaf) at the top of the cup. When it tries to walk on the peristome, the surface essentially flakes away, causing it to slip down the sides of the pitcher and into the liquid. As the insect struggles to escape, the movement triggers plant glands to emit digestive acids which can render a midge fly to a mere memory in hours. The largest of the pitchers, Nepenthes rajah can even digest mice!

Nepenthes is not the only beneficiary of the prey it traps. Over 150 species have adapted to survive the diabolical morphology of the pitcher plant. Mosquito larvae live in the pitcher and find sustenance in the decaying remains of insects and some species of Nepenthes even have developed "pockets" in their stems to provide habitat for ants. The ants crawl into the pitcher to help themselves to a freshly-trapped fly, bring the fly to the peristome and dismember it. Smaller pieces of the fly fall back into the phytotelma (a water body formed by a plant) and are digested. Crab spiders and frogs have also learned to benefit from some species of Nepenthes. However, that doesn't include Nepenthes rajah - which can make a diet out of frogs quite easily.

Nepenthes densiflora is native to the Sumatran highlands and thrives best in elevations of 8000 feet or more. The genus name is compliments of Linnaeus himself. It's assumed by most that he was referring to the mythological elixir Nepenthe which is referenced in Homer's Odyssey.

Victoria amazonica, or Water Platters

2010-03-10T07:58:00.000-08:00

So here we are at the welcoming display for the Philly Flower Show. As I mentioned yesterday, the theme is "Passport to the World". This display, for the most part, had a South Asian/Southeast Asian theme.

As you can see in the foreground, there's Gynura sarmentosa or purple passion plant, which is native to the Philippines, and a species of Cycas which could (depending on the species) be native to the Philippines as well. In fact, 9 of the 70-odd species of Cycas are endemic to this country.

Of course, we go off script with a weeping cherry to the left and with the Cyperus papyrus near the footbridge. Another geographic anomaly would be the floating discs on display, but I can't fault the designer for adding them; these plants no doubt will capture the interest of novice plant lovers.

These are Victoria amazonica which, as you can gather from the species name, are new world plants, native to the Amazon basin. They are in the Nymphaeaceae family and are thus related to waterlilies, or Nymphaea.

Of course the differences among the genera are striking; water platters are not only far larger than waterlilies, but they have a scary-spiny underside. This helps the plant distribute its weight and indeed a Victoria leaf can support 70 pounds of load.

The Philadelphia Flower Show

2010-03-09T16:37:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been a hectic time here at the New York, Plants & Other Stuff headquarters. Last week, I was only able to post one measly item, though strangely it provided affirmation that my friends and family members actually read this blog -- I received more unsolicited remarks about that post than the last fifty!

Anyway, I was hopscotching through the middle Atlantic states last weekend, enjoying the spring weather, and was able to do a quick run through of the Philadelphia Flower Show.

I have a soft spot for these events. It's always fun to see weirdness like the image above. You'd never really encounter Forthergilla and Echinacea blooming at the same time unless some plantsperson forced the two at precisely the right schedule.

This year's theme was Passport to the World which I enjoyed quite a bit - participating vendors would select a region for their theme, and most would use natives that corresponded to said region accurately.

More later this week.

Picea abies

2010-03-02T06:34:00.000-08:00

Remember in December when I posted about Picea abies? Probably not -- who am I kidding? But in any case, I had written that I have seen more than one modest rancher dwarfed by these trees. On first glance, I thought that situation was being played out at the farmer's market near Dia:Beacon.

But after getting a closer look, that's not quite the case.

Sure enough, the Beacon farmer's market cabin was built around the Norway spruce. I suppose, were I a more intrepid blogger, I would have asked someone the back story about the tree. But I was quickly distracted by the wine tastings and hot apple cider.

Dia: Beacon Landscape

2010-02-25T06:41:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, last Sunday I went to Dia: Beacon for a day trip (evidently making the most of our short, warmish interlude between snowstorms). Today I'll post some photos of the landscape that was installed for the new space.

Artist Robert Irwin designed the landscape for Beacon and though I like it enough, I'm disappointed that commissioning Irwin infers that an artist can take on a landscape design interchangeably with a landscape architect. Now, in all fairness, Irwin also did most of the planning for the gallery spaces themselves and as I said, they are extraordinary. But the landscape - to me - doesn't offer any revelations.

Above you have the aerial hedges of Carpinus betulus. Second to birches, I'd say that straight rows of columnar architectural hornbeams are the go-to design gesture for museums. It's a touch cliche, really. I understand that in an urban environment the tall narrow canopies of Betulaceae-family trees make sense, but with so much opportunity on this site, it's disappointing that no risks were taken. Particularly when you consider that risk - even indulgence - can be concomitant with works of contemporary art. Why none of that expressiveness in the landscape?

I did like the detailing - the raised decks on corten steel refer to the Serra pieces inside and also protect the root zones of trees. Though I think I would have tried to come up with some more elegant way to hide the concrete footings (see image below). But at least they are not sonotubes -- nothing is more annoying than seeing the end of a sonotube peaking out of the ground, with the cardboard wrapping slowly peeling away.

The mitered pieces of decking were subtly elegant details as well. Though I wish we would see more use of composite wood for its environmental benefits.

The front lawn entrance changes from lawn to concrete and then to asphalt with the use of turf blocks - concrete honeycombs which allow turf to grow in the voids while (presumably) allowing a solid enough surface for firetruck parking and other heavy vehicular traffic (like cranes that will install large pieces of artwork).

Of course, that's my practical assumption as to why the turf block was used. I did read a review of the space at this link which interpreted the landscape as a "front garden, with concrete diamonds instead of open lawns. Tufts of grass peek through holes in the grid, as if desperate to escape the symmetry." Right.

Sycamores and Dia: Beacon

2010-02-24T07:33:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday was a gloriously warm day for New Yorkers - of course, by late February, the bar for 'glorious' is set pretty low: I was thrilled to have temperatures surpass the 40° mark.

In any case, a friend and I celebrated this warmer weather with a trip to Dia: Beacon.

Dia: Beacon is a contemporary art gallery housed in a former cardboard box factory. The large, expansive rooms of the factory, which once housed industrial machinery, now are now indulgently large galleries, flooded with natural light from the pitched skylights. The massive size of the building also allows for quite a few massive (as if there are any other kind) Richard Serra pieces.

The trip itself is lovely as well. Metro North runs a line along the Hudson River and the walk from the train station to the gallery is less than half a mile. During the walk back to the train station, I couldn't help but pause and take a few pictures of this perfect specimen of sycamore (Platanus occidentalis).

I have mentioned sycamores before in my post about London plane trees. Indeed, London planes are a hybrid of sycamore and Platanus orientalis - the plane tree more often found in Europe. Sycamores have larger leaves and whiter bark. The base of the sycamore trunks also have a scaly bark, and only becomes a smooth exfoliating bark further up the tree.

This sycamore is located in a fairly typical microclimate. Sycamores are often found on slopes near riversides and can handle damp spring soil fairly well.

MTA: Fail

2010-02-23T06:42:00.000-08:00

This was taken at the Broadway-Lafayette Station in Soho. New Yorkers who spend far too much time below-ground may be able to tell what's wrong with this picture:

If you can't figure out what's off, the Q line is yellow and never runs on the same platform as the B, D & F. Instead, that Q shoulda been a V for the V line.

Orchids

2010-02-19T09:28:00.000-08:00

Here's the last few shots of some beautiful hybrid orchids from Adore Florist in Noho. Most plant enthusiasts probably know that the orchid family, orchidaceae, is the largest family of flowering plants. There are, approximately, 880 genera and 22,000 species of orchid.

I'm guessing that these beautiful fuchsia stems are hybrids of the Vanda orchids, as Vandas may have magenta flowers, take easily to hybridization, and are popular among florists. But with all those genera to chose from, I'm only hazarding a guess. I love orchids, but only as much as the next person. Someday, when I live elsewhere than New York City (and thus have light and can avoid the searingly dry heat that comes with steam-powered radiators every winter) I will experiment further with orchid care. For now, I'm focused on keeping spider plants and sanseveria alive.

When I was a kid living in Malaysia, we had orchids - mostly Oncidiums, I think - growing in the trees of our yard. Like most of the orchids in subtropical or tropical regions, these plants were epiphytes; that is, they lived in the canopies of trees, benefitting from the canopy's microclimate without detriment to the host tree (just like the previously-mentioned Spanish moss).

Orchids in temperate regions are usually terrestrial, so New York natives like Platanthera and Spiranthes appear quite different from the orchids we see in flower shops. What groups such seemingly different looking plants into Orchidaceae are several characteristics: they are monocots (more primitive flowering plants that exhibit parallel veins); they have one modified petal that's called a lip or labellum; and finally, the reproductive parts of the orchid's flower are fused into one column (similar to, but different from the staminal columns of, for instance, Hibiscus).

More from the Florist, & my memories of working at one

2010-02-18T11:06:00.000-08:00

When I was in college and grad school, I worked at a florist during the busy periods, namely Homecoming (lots of mum boutonnieres), Mother's Day (whatever arrangement was being pushed by FTD) and of course, Valentine's Day. Valentine's Day was arduous; we would begin working all-nighters starting around the 11th or 12th, putting together arrangements, stripping roses of thorns, taking orders.

It's always amused me that florists are depicted in romantic comedies as mellow, sensitive, easy-going souls. Most recently, Ashton Kutcher plays one in the insipid-looking Valentine's Day. I never saw the movie, but Jennifer Aniston played one in that movie with Aaron Eckhart too, and both trailers would suggest their characters - Aniston's & Kutcher's - support this stereotype. Me, I'm remembering Christian Slater in Bed of Roses - he falls in love with Mary Staurt Masterson from afar, and then sends her flowers anonymously. I think there's also a scene where he's spying on her outside her apartment, which once again prove that whatever's supposed to be angsty and romantic in movie life is actually stalker-y and crazy in real life (I'm looking at you, Lloyd Dobler).

Anyway, this image of the peaceful florist always makes me laugh, because I remember the first one I worked for. She was the most high-stress woman I'd ever met. 5'1" and barely 100 pounds, she was a ferociously hyper, chain-smoking handful of woman (once we actually had a customer complain that her flower arrangement smelled like cigarettes. Oops.). You can understand the pressure, too. On Valentine's Day, a florist has maybe tens of thousands of dollars worth of merchandise, all of which is highly perishable. I don't know the exact statistic, but it'd be safe to say a typical florist can probably make around 10% of their annual profit on this one day. So, I understood my boss being a bit...edgy.

The other thing that's rarely touched on, is that florists really know everything that's going on in a small town. They know who's dead, who's getting married, who's birthday it is. They even know who cheats. I remember a man coming in and giving me two orders, to two different women. One got an order of roses, the other got carnations. My boss told me, after he left, that the girlfriend got the roses, the wife got carnations. Yuck.

Sadly, I realize this post would have been far more topical last week - it may have even gotten picked up by another website. Alas, it was only after this past snow that I was antsy enough to go find some greenery! Perhaps it's just as well; maybe we're happier to think that florists are zen Earth-mother or father figures. Even if, to me, the more relatable movie character for a florist may be Seymour Krelborn.

Ranunculus, and a plaintive plea for spring

2010-02-17T11:33:00.000-08:00

I am so, so very sick of this snow. February is, to me, the bitterest month. It's cold, it's bleak and this month, the snow has been relentless. I've yet to see even the tiniest bit of Crocus foliage sprout and the snow makes it hard to even spend much time outdoors.

But, the days are lengthening, ever so slowly. And there is always the Duane Reade official sign of spring, the Peep (TM):

It's getting me so rammy that I finally decided to take some snapshots of plants at a florist. So I walked over to Adore Floral in Noho to see what they had blooming in a climate-controlled showroom.

I'll post a few other shots later this week but today we'll focus on Ranunculus asiaticus, or the Persian buttercup. This species of Ranunculus is native to the Mediterranean region and is a protected flower in Israel. It prefers a dry light soil, hot summers and mild winters.

Because it comes in a wide variety of colors and the big flower heads (with rows and rows of petals), it's a popular favorite in the floral industry, though the blossoms are still quite fragile.

Ranunculus are commonly called buttercup due to the buttery yellow color of another Ranunculus species, R. acris. Ranunculus itself is Latin for "little frog" (Rana=frog) because some species of this genus can be found near wetlands, which are also frequented by frogs.

Speaking of etymology, if the species name acris caught your eye, you'd be interested to know that indeed it is given this name because the plant has a bitter acrid taste that can be fatal to livestock if ingested fresh. It's unlikely, however that a cow or horse would eat much of it, due to the taste and the mouth blisters that animals will get after eating only a little of this plant. If humans handle the plant too much, they will also get a case of dermatitis caused by chemicals that can be released from the plant.

Rose. Or, well the Rose Center, that is

2010-02-12T06:31:00.000-08:00

Back in December, I posted this photo from the NYBG holiday train show - it's a model of the Rose Center and Hayden Planetarium made completely from plant material.

Last night, I passed the real thing, designed by James Polshek and built in 2000. Since my camera's been taking decent night photos - like the ones I took during the Wolf Moon - I thought I would post this.

Polshek says his intention was to build a 'cosmic cathedral.' I'd say he succeeded. Last night it was particularly beautiful, the orb glowing blue in the snowy park that surrounds it. What's more, the planetarium doesn't mar the integrity of the adjacent building, which houses the rest of the American Museum of Natural History. When you encounter the original structure on Central Park West, built by Jacob Wrey Mould and Central Park architect Calvert Vaux, you don't really notice Polshek's addition*, nor the marked contrast of the 133 years that separate the structures. It's not until you turn the corner on 81st Street that you are wowed by Polshek's design.

*Technically, the Polshek's design was not an addition but a renovation of a pre-existing planetarium. Technically the building is in fact an addition not a renovation. The original planetarium was built in the 1930s and demolished. The design was created by Todd Schliemann and James Polshek of Polshek Partnership.

Plumbago auriculata

2010-02-11T06:46:00.001-08:00

While we New Yorkers can rest a little more easily now that the snowstorm has passed (and we really weren't hit too badly at all; apologies to those of you snowed in further south!), there's still scant plant material to observe. So...I'm posting today about a plant in our office, Plumbago auriculata.

Plumbago is native to south Africa but is a common site in California and other Mediterranean climates. It's a vigorous grower and blooms as long as it has full sun and warm temperatures. Ours here, overlooking Crosby Street, would never live outside but the southern exposure has kept it blooming since December.

On a hunch, I checked to see if plumbago was related to phlox or vinca, since the flowers look so similar. No such luck; all three plants belong to different families (Plumbaginaceae, Apocynaceae and Polemoniaceae, respectively).

See below the fibers that protrude from the calyx? Those sticky fibers (commonly referred to as glandular hairs, though technically they are too substantial to be simply hairs) will remain at the base of the flower (look to the far right) and when a seed is ready for germination, they may attach to any animal that happens to pass by the plant. To be sure, I've seen more than a few plumbago seed capsules stuck in my boss's hair after she's watered this plant. These hairs also secrete a mucilage that can trap and kill insects.

The name plumbago is derivative from the Latin word for lead, plumbum. That's because it's believed this plant can cure lead poisoning. The plant is believed to also be a remedy for warts, broken bones and wounds. Indeed, hardy plumbago (Ceratostigma plumbaginoides) is commonly called leadwort.

Zuccotti Park

2010-02-09T06:08:00.000-08:00

Back when I used to work for the Department of City Planning, I'd spend a lot of time downtown in the financial district. On lunch breaks, I'd check out Century 21's newest inventory or browse the mall that once existed beneath the twin towers.

I had a friend who worked downtown, too and when the weather was nice we would sometimes eat al fresco at Zuccotti Park (also known as Liberty Plaza Park). That was back before 9/11 so I am not as familiar with the renovated design, designed by Cooper Robertson & Partners, and opened to the public in 2006.

Last Friday was certainly the first time I'd been near the park at night and I was struck by the lighting display. From a distance, I had to stop and wonder if it was some kind of art installation of fluorescent tubes, but then it became clear that they are flush with the paving.

I like it...but I can't help feel that inspires a touch of dread. I instantly associate that lighting with some kind of souless cubicle farm and I begin to worry about finishing my TPS reports.

New Commenting Procedure

2010-02-05T10:40:00.001-08:00

Hi all,

A short note to say that you'll need to enter a captcha word when you comment now. If you've been reading recent posts you will see that I've been getting the worst comment spam lately.

I hope it's not an inconvenience. Please keep coming back!

--Jennifer

Pieris japonica

2010-02-04T06:45:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned last December, seeing the fattened flower buds of trees and shrubs this time of year really keeps me pert during the otherwise dreary winter months. Pieris japonica may very well be the showiest plant when it comes to winter bud display, as you can see from the specimen below, growing in Herald Square.

It seems appropriate that I post about Pieris on the heels of an astronomical post, since Pieris shares its common name with the constellation - and galaxy - Andromeda.

Andromeda was a princess from Greek mythology whose mother, Cassiopeia, was a bit too conceited - she claimed she was more beautiful than the Nereids, daughters of the sea god Nereus. I guess Nereus and Poseidon were tight, so as punishment to Cassiopeia, Poseidon had Andromeda chained to a rock and sacrificed her to Cetus the sea monster. Luckily, Perseus - drunk with his victory of killing Gorgon Medusa - was able to slay the sea monster and rescue Andromeda. They got hitched shortly after.

If this all sounds a bit familiar, perhaps it's because you remember that 'classic' 1981 flick, Clash of the Titans which, incidentally, has been re-made and should be coming to theaters soon.

Anyway, back to the plant. While Pieris japonica is still referred to commonly as Japanese Andromeda, use of this name is discouraged, since there is another plant, bog rosemary, whose scientific name is Andromeda polifolia. Yet another example of how important it is to know the botanical names.

Pieris is in the Ericaceae, or heath, family and is related to mountain laurel, rhododendron, azaleas and blueberries. But Pieris is unique from some species those genera because it's not native to the US and, more pragmatically, it is toxic to animals. As a result, deer tend to stay away from it.

As you can see from the images, the plant comes in white and red (as well as pink) flowering varieties.

Last Friday's Wolf Moon

2010-02-02T07:43:00.000-08:00

Chances are, many of you readers were forwarded some email or received a facebook post about the moon last Friday. Last Friday the smallest distance between the moon and earth, or its perigree, was reached. Actually, to be more accurate, the moon was as close to earth as it can get - 221,577 miles - at 4:04 AM on Saturday morning.

These photos were taken around midnight so the moon was actually moving closer to us at this time. It's not common for the perigree to occur at the same time that the moon is full, which is why this is considered a special event.

What made it even more unusual, was that Mars was "at opposition" last Friday, too. That meant it was opposite the sun and thus rose with the moon. On January 27, the red planet was nearest to the earth at a mere 61 million miles and was still quite close to us two days later on the 29th (click image above to enlarge).

The name 'wolf moon' was applied by Native Americans who often viewed this midwinter moon with the accompaniment of hungry, howling wolves.

Regular readers know I had to get a new camera recently. I have to say, I think my fairly everyday Canon 10x Zoom did pretty well with these shots. Now if only there was a bit more plant life to shoot!

Thuja, Thuja, Thuja

2010-01-29T08:05:00.000-08:00

Remember back in May when I posted those photos of Liriodendron tulipifera? At that time, the landscape installation had not been complete at the Cooper Square Hotel. Now all the paving, furnishings and additional plants have been installed, too.

I had been so tickled to see the tuliptree (an urban rarity) planted at this site and had high hopes that other off-the-beaten-path plant species would be included in the palette. Alas, I was underwhelmed when I saw that everything else is Thuja (arborvitae). Don't get me wrong -- arborvitaes are handy plants and can be used in a seamless green screen to powerful effect. For a modernish building like this hotel, I appreciate the intent.

...But this landscape just reminds me of what a friend once said at a diner over breakfast, "The thing about pancakes is that you're halfway through eating them and it's just more pancakes." Indeed. The landscape above is a bit monotonous. Also puzzling is the use of a bluestone random rectangular paving pattern. It's lovely, but it is so residential; it seems like a missed opportunity to do something contemporary and to keep in step with the building.

Now, then a bit about Thuja itself. I haven't named a species because frankly there are several of them and I have a hard time telling them apart. There's Thuja occidentalis (which is often cultivated for a darker, more vibrant wintertime green - the straight species gets yellowed in the winter), Thuja orientalis (which is cultivated to be more winter-hardy, as this species is tender in cold climates) and Thuja plicata (which has great foliage). T. orientalis, I should add, has actually been reclassified as either Biota orientalis or Platycladus orientalis but people in the landscape trade still consider it a Thuja. If you aren't confused enough by now, let's add that the common name for T. occidentalis is also white cedar, even though the plant isn't related to Cedrus but is instead in the cypress (Cupressaceae) family.

Thom Mayne's Cooper Union Building

2010-01-26T07:03:00.001-08:00

I have (very reasonably, I think) veered from too much architecture on this site. There's no dearth of architectural criticism (snarchitecture?) on the web and I don't feel like there's much I can add to those dialogues. Though really, check out From Our House to Bauhaus - it's a fun read.

All of that said, I cannot resist posting two photos of Thom Mayne's Cooper Union Building. If my many posts about Liz Christy Gardens haven't indicated it clearly enough, for the past few years I have been living in the East Village and the Lower East Side. Longtime readers will remember I had to leave my LES apartment in December '08 due to a fire. Since then I've been in the East Village, just a few blocks away from this building.

The fact that I walk by this building on a regular basis probably accounts for why I love it so much. Perhaps if I had only seen it once or twice, I'd feel differently. But the thing I have discovered about this building in the course of my quitodian walks by it, is how much the building responds to the light. On sunny days it sparkles, on cloudy days it almost blends into the atmosphere. It's remarkable, and if you live in the city I encourage you to walk by it in all kinds of weather -- it's like an architectural mood ring. (Yes, somewhere Herbert Muschamp is rolling over in his grave.)

Since I've already invoked tacky 70's fashion fads, I suppose I should just go all-out and say that I also like this building because I can practically see the hovercars whiz by it, fifty years from now. I'm not much for sci-fi movies, but I was arrested by the tableaus in Minority Report, since the mix of old and new architecture seemed to realistically capture what may lie ahead. Seeing this building, just across the street from its 1858 predecessor, gives one a great view of our possible future as well as our past.

More Books

2010-01-24T09:43:00.000-08:00

Defiant Gardens: Making Gardens in Wartime

Winter flowers in greenhouse and sun-heated pit

The New Organic Grower: Master's Manual of Tools and Techniques for the Home and Market Gardener

The Winter Harvest Handbook: Year Round Vegetable Production Using Deep Organic Techniques and Unheated Greenhouses

Why We Garden: Cultivating a Sense of Place

Relating Architecture to Landscape

The Experience of Landscape

Wright Space: Pattern and Meaning in Frank Lloyd Wright's Houses

Why We Garden

Hedera helix

2010-01-21T06:25:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been cold lately in New York. The past few days we finally broke into weather above 35° and it felt downright tropical (if only). Add this to the fact that I'm planning a big move and packing and well, at least for the time being, I have a full time job, so it's safe to say I've been awfully busy.

But that doesn't mean I can't post something up here. Even if it's as plebeian as English ivy (Hedera helix), seen here growing up Platanus x. acerifolia at the Marble Cemetery.

Everyone knows this plant. Over the past five years of teaching, very few students are unable to identify this plant as ivy when encountered with it. It's a very handy, practically-bulletproof plant that can be used as a climbing vine (as above) or as a groundcover (as below).

But there are probably things about Hedera helix that the average person doesn't know.

The name itself comes to mind. Hedera is simply the Latin name for ivy, but helix tells one more about the plant. Specifically that the leaves emerge from the stem in a helical pattern (much like the way DNA molecules are arranged in a strand).

Above you see the more recognizable form of ivy climbing the wall, then it balloons out into a shrub-like mass and starts to fall back down the wall. That's the adult phase of the plant. The form we see most often is the juvenile stage.

Here's ivy, in adult form, climbing a tree at Liz Christy Garden. The overall form of the plant isn't the only thing that changes. If you look more closely, you see the leaf changes from a three-lobed shape into a more ovate-shaped leaf - the lobes disappear.

You also see that, like people, this plant is able to reproduce once it is in the adult stage. Bluish berries fruit a year after minute flowers are pollinated. These fruits are mildly toxic.

The next obvious question is, why can some ivy plants remain at the juvenile stage for decades, while others enter the adult phase? The key is height. Generally, when the plant is more than 20 feet above-ground, and it is not being pruned or clipped, it enters the adult phase.

Straddling Seasons

2010-01-18T07:06:00.000-08:00

Yes, I know it's barely one month into winter, but it's time to start thinking about spring, no?

I mentioned once before how, in New York, when all else fails, we can gauge the change in seasons by what's on display at the bodegas. Well, this picture seems to perfectly illustrate where we are in the year.

We still have the leftover mini Christmas trees and the Amaryllis bulbs (typical for holiday flora), but they are slowly being edged out by jonquils and Iris reticulata. Soon we'll see forced hyacinths in the delis and after that, cut daffodils and finally lilacs!

Though it's hardly a natural setting, this little arrangement in the East Village is a nice indication that warmer weather is ahead.

From Our House to Bauhaus

2010-01-13T07:11:00.000-08:00

Frankly, I think Tom Wolfe could write about factories that produce brown paper bags and he’d spin a good yarn out of it (except maybe, for A Man in Full). The Bonfire of the Vanities is a must-read for anyone, but especially for those of us who have lived in New York and have been witness to more than one local political scandal.

Mies van der Rohe's Seagram Building

But despite this and despite the fact that I work in the field of design, I had never read From Bauhaus to Our Houseuntil recently. And that’s a shame, because it’s a great read.

Wolfe chronicles the advent of modernism, starting with Walter Gropius and his Bauhaus School for architects. From there he illustrates the fevered admiration of the rest of the world’s architectural community, until the point that defining yourself as an architect is barely less specific than labeling yourself a modernist. He touches on the absurdity that some of the most renowned modern architects are the ones that build the least. Finally, he observes the backlash towards this style - starting with Robert Venturi’s Learning from Las Vegas.

Gordon Bunshaft+SOM's Lever House

If you are even tangentially connected to architecture or design, I’d recommend this -- it’s a light, fast, breezy book that somehow still manages to provide academic information and discuss seemingly lofty concepts.

Glossy Abelia

2010-01-12T06:07:00.000-08:00

I'll be honest, I haven't taken these photos with my new camera; it's just too miserable outside. Hopefully I will get new shots soon (i.e., the weather will warm up), but in the meantime, some photos of Glossy Abelia (Abelia x grandiflora), still blooming at the NYBG back in December.

I'd never classify this plant as a specimen - it's loose sprawling habit requires too much maintenance to shape into anything sculptural - but it's a terrific massing plant for public or institutional landscapes.

And obviously, it blooms well into the winter. I'd be curious how it has handled these 20 degree days.

Abelia x grandiflora is a hybrid of Abelia chinensis and uniflora.

Moving Sale

2010-01-10T10:44:00.000-08:00

A total "Other Stuff" item. So "Other Stuff" that I'm post-dating it, so regular readers won't be too bothered.

I need to sell the following items. Contact me at jennifer.g.horn@gmail.com if you are interested.

Oak dresser, 45"Wx18.5"Dx24"H. $75. Low height is perfect for TV's.

1950's era standing ashtray. Very 'madmen.' 10"x10"x20". Since it's vintage I'm asking $50.

Antique (1940s) dresser with armoire doors. Walnut veneer. It needs some TLC but with the right person this can restored beautifully. The armoire doors would make this a great bar closet.
35"Wx47.5"Hx20"D. Asking $125.

Bed Bath & Beyond over-the-toilet storage shelf. $15.

This IKEA dresser needs some help - I've drilled the pieces back together once before, it definitely needs it again. That's why I'm selling it for so cheap: $15. 32"Wx33"Hx16"D.

Pop art plastic chair. 18"x18"x32". $25.

Wooden saddle stool. 24" high. $30.

Kate's Paperie: Home Leather Chair, 21"x21"x35". Great condition. $75.

This Crate & Barrel storage cube/coffee table has suffered serious cat damage (see scratches). But fabric can be stapled over this and it can still be quite useful. 18"x18"x20" CHEAP: $10.

Dirt Devil mini-vac. $10.

Simple human mini dish rack. 12.9"D x 14.5"W x 7.1"H. Only 1 year old. Retails for $40, this one is $15.

...In the words of Kramer, "Interesting trades considered."

...That's not really true, I just want the cash, but I'll consider reasonable offers and I'll definitely give you a discount if you buy multiple items. First person to pay for an item gets it. You can schedule pick up after payment - but must do so by the 23rd.

New Camera! & Links

2010-01-08T06:40:00.000-08:00

So yesterday I finally got a new camera, which is very exciting since I feel like I'm traveling without a passport when I don't have a camera with me. It's a Canon PowerShot SX120IS - so far I like it -- my previous camera was a Canon and I am, evidently, in a family of Canon owners so there's a convenience to sharing the same memory cards and cables. That said, if you have this camera and hate it, please let me know. I have 13 days to return it.

Hopefully this means I will have some more material next week, but in the meantime, some links:

You may have heard that David Murbach passed away this week. Murbach was the Rockefeller Plaza Christmas Tree hunter. He would scour landscapes near and far for the perfect Christmas tree, which we already know is almost always a Picea abies. He also founded a local horticulture group here in New York called MetroHort. I saw him speak there once - he shared slides with us of various seasonal landscape schemes for Rockefeller Plaza and elaborated on how they were designed and how plants were sourced. The New York Times has an obituary of him here.

********

US News and World Report published an article called, Top 50 Careers for 2010. Landscape architecture is listed in the category "Creative and Service" - this group seems like a bit of a catchall, since plumbers, funeral directors and security system installers are also included.

Elder

2010-01-06T05:57:00.000-08:00

Perhaps my camera should break every January. I mean, really: who wants to look at dreary photos of plants in a bleak, wintry landscape when we can reminisce about warmer days?

Like the day in May that I took this photo of Sambucus nigra, or elder, or elderberry, growing in the Liz Christy Garden:

The flowers are beautiful, creamy white corymbs. Corymbs are flat-topped flower structures. The most popular flower structure of course (after the simple flower), is the panicle, which is a cone-shaped flower. Paniculata is a popular species name as it refers to this flower shape. Other flower structures include racemes, spikes, catkins, spadices, and umbels.

The flowers and the black-colored (thus, S. "nigra") elderberries that follow are non-toxic, however the rest of the plant is poisonous if ingested raw in high quantities. When processed into a syrup, the plant has been proven to reduce some cold and flu symptoms. But, don't try that at home, kids.

The flowers are used in drinks such as an elderflower cordial and the equally-obviously named Sambuca. The berries, like many others, are used in jams and jellies.

The Coney Island Polar Bear Plunge

2010-01-03T08:40:00.000-08:00

First off, apologies for taking some time off from this blog. Second, a warning that my camera lens is jammed and is under repair. So the next few posts will be anachronistic photos from the archives.

And now for a "New York" and "Other Stuff" item, the Coney Island Polar Bear Club.

Ever since I moved to New York in 1999, I have idly threatened to participate in the New Year's Day Polar Bear Plunge. The irrational exuberance of jumping into the ocean on January 1st appeals to me on a, well, primitive level. I had never done it before but, buoyed my friend Dave, who responded to my pleas for conspirators via facebook status updates, I did it this year.

It was definitely a great New York activity. Dave and I, and his friend Brian, met on the Q train platform on Friday morning. We allowed ourselves every opportunity to chicken out at the last instant. But when we got to Coney Island and saw the crowds of people, our doubts began to ease.

I mean, if these perfectly sane people can do it, why can't we?

That's Brian and me, below. We're heading up to the boardwalk, where you can see there are throngs of people. A PA system blasted songs intended to pump up our resolve.

Some needed that musical inspiration more than others. Veterans to the plunge were all around, quickly sizing up us newbies, telling us that we're lucky this year, after all it's around 40°, and there's no wind. This plunge, they said, will be easy.

The Polar Bear Club estimates that 800-1000 people participate each year.

The funny thing about an event like this, is that I was running into people left and right. In a crowd that big, I saw a former colleague from the zoo and another colleague with whom I worked at City Planning.

Dave himself was a friend from the zoo and he connected with the aquarium folks who co-sponsor the event. We ran into them moments before the plunge began. We were ushered past the VIP ropes you see below and invited to join them in leading the charge. As soon as we passed those ropes, getting wet was a fait accompli.

At 1pm, we made our way down the aisle, passing dozens of photographers from local new joints. Personally, being photographed running in a bathing suit, after a month of holiday parties, may have been worse than getting in 40° water! ...But that kind of vanity is inconsequential when one has a chance to do something as irrational and exhilarating as the polar bear plunge. It felt amazing. We were in the water for about a minute (ask me five years from now and I'll tell you five minutes). It was bracingly cold, but the icy water seemed to release all kinds of endorphins - a natural high, no doubt. After we got out of the water, the air temp seemed downright balmy. I anticipated that getting dressed would be a painful and rushed activity, but we practically ambled back to the changing rooms on the boardwalk. I've had site visits in snowy weather that were far more unpleasant than this quick dip.

Of course, best of all, there were tee shirts. 'Cause if you don't have a tee shirt documenting it, it practically didn't happen! ;)

Winter Buds

2009-12-24T05:31:00.000-08:00

One of the things I like most of all about understanding the plant world is that, while we are barely just a few days into winter, I can already see the signs that warmer days will be here soon.

When I worked at a plant nursery in high school, customers would come in every summer with the same confounded plea, 'Why aren't my hydrangeas/azaleas/rhododendrons blooming?' The first question I quickly learned to ask was, 'When do you prune them?' Inevitably they would answer, 'Early spring.'

One quickly learns that plants which bloom in the spring set their flower buds in the fall. The buds sit, cocoon-like, all winter long, preparing for their flower show a few months later. When those customers prune their shrubs in the early spring, they are cutting off all the flowers prematurely.

As someone who really doesn't prefer the cold, I take a lot of comfort in seeing these flower buds. It's the promise of a spring that, at times, seems a bit too distant.

Merry Christmas!

Red Tailed Hawk, Tompkins Square Park

2009-12-22T05:02:00.001-08:00

If you look closely at the Sophora below, you'll notice a red tailed hawk (Buteo jamaicensis) perched on one of the limbs. To add to the suspense, you may also notice the tree shades a dog run.

Don't worry, all the lapdogs survived - at least while I was there. But if you forgive a slight anthropomorphization, I like to think the hawk took a macabre thrill in scaring them a bit.

This hawk is most likely progeny of Pale Male, the famous hawk who resides on a 5th Avenue coop's ledge, to both the pride and horror of the building's many tenants, including Woody Allen, Mary Tyler Moore and Paula Zahn.

NYBG: The Best of the Rest

2009-12-18T05:10:00.000-08:00

I'm going to wrap up the week with photos of some of the other great models at the NYBG Train Show. But first, I'm sharing a little attention: Carolyn Friedman runs a blog calledRadiology Technician Schools (random, I know) and included New York, Plants and Other Stuff in her list of Top 50 Botany Blogs. Check out Carolyn's list for other great plant-inspired blogs.

Various NYC townhouses.

The Brooklyn Bridge (I love the use of pine bark for the brownstone bricks).

The Rose Center and Hayden Planetarium at the American Museum of Natural History.

St. Patrick's Cathedral

The Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.

Norway Spruce & Rockefeller Center

2009-12-17T05:31:00.001-08:00

Since we are well into the holiday season, it seems appropriate to post on Picea abies or Norway Spruce.

Norway Spruces are probably recognizable to people living in the mid-Atlantic states, if not areas beyond, despite the fact that the plant is (as the common name suggests) native to areas between the Ural Moutains and Norway. It was introduced to North America during colonial times and has been a popular favorite since. It's often sold in a pot at plant nurseries as a 'live Christmas tree' that can be transplanted to the yard after the holidays. Of course, the subsequent danger is that it is planted too close to the house. I have seen more than one modest rancher dwarfed by these trees.

Norways are identifiable from other spruces by their almost pendulous habit. Long swooping branches have smaller branches, laden with needles, hanging down. In the past, I have likened this plant's habit to an Afghan dog. That's utterly ridiculous, I know, but my students seem to get it.

Picea is derivative of the ancient Latin name for pitch (pix). That's because the Norway's wood is often used for pulp and paper. It is also used for a furniture varnish. New shoots are used in a spruce beer and finally, the roots of this tree can be used for rope.

Note the woody husk that is pulled from the branch along with the needle. That's quite typical with Picea abies.

Another key I tell my students is Picea=pierce. That's because the needles are quite sharp - they pierce your skin much more than a similar looking Fir (Abies) tree would.

Picea abies is also quite famous, because it is usually the tree used at Rockefeller Center. Which gives me the perfect segway to some photos of the NYBG train show:

Yes, there's 30 Rock itself (flanked by other New York sights such as the Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building), complete with the angel statues and even Prometheus.

Callicarpa and Penn Station (the good one)

2009-12-16T05:05:00.000-08:00

It's always a good bet that when you see a plant full of untouched fruit in the winter, that said plant is not native. The subtext is that the non-native fruit is undesirable to the native wildlife. Things get a little muddy when you consider that some of our local wildlife is also non-native, or that deer -- a native animal -- will eat almost anything. But the concept has some merit, and if you assume the plant below is a non-native, you'd be right.

Here comes the part where I have to admit to a previous mistake (I hate that). When I last spoke about this genus, Callicarpa, I showed photos and equivocated on the species. I suggested it could be Callicarpa dichotoma or Callicarpa japonica and then I favored the latter.

Seeing these specimens at the NYBG last week, it's clear that the plant I posted on in September 2008 was Callicarpa dichotoma and this plant is C. japonica. The fruit set is decidedly different, the latter plant has fruit and flowers borne on longer cymes whereas the former has fruit set closely to the stem of the plant. Cymes, if you recall the post about linden flowers, are the small stems that connect the flower (or fruit) to the twig. Mea culpa.

Onward, to some fun models. The building below is a new addition to the NYBG train show but chances are it's a familiar building to most New Yorkers. Its familiarity is not because we see the building depicted in movies or postcards, but sadly because it was a beautiful building that the city foolishly demolished.

As you can see from the hand in the left of the photo, the model is massive. It's beautiful, too, though one has to look at some of the stunning black and white photos of the original structure to realize how lovely the building really was.

The model makers, as you can see, were very detailed. Though that man is evidently very, very tall.

Note the acorn cap on the column!

Idesia & Yankee Stadium

2009-12-14T04:53:00.000-08:00

More photos of the Holiday Train Show at NYBG today, but first, Idesia polycarpa or the Igiri tree.

I had never heard of Igiri tree before, but I was stopped in my tracks when I saw its elegant shape and the lovely chandeliers of red berries, contrasting so beautifully against the blue sky and green pines.

Idesia is a dioecious tree which means the male and female flowers exist on separate trees (remember dioecious is Greek for 'two houses'). This accounts for the reason you rarely see this tree (which also has yellow fragrant flowers in June) outside of a park setting -- you simply need too much room for the male and female(s) needed to make an impact.

Polycarpa of course means 'multiple fruit' which is a bit of an understatement in this case. . Idesia derives from Eberhad Isbarnd Ides, a 17th century explorer employed by the Russian Czar Peter the Great.

Back to the train show, below we have the old Yankee Stadium -- the model is based on the stadium before the 1976 renovations:

I particularly liked the red leaves used as flags.

Christmas Rose & the Guggenheim

2009-12-11T05:18:00.001-08:00

Recently the New York Botanical Garden invited me (or more accurately, they invited New York Plants & Other Stuff) to a sneak peak of their holiday train show.

If you haven't been, definitely check it out. I had been once before in 2003, but forgot how much fun it is to see these models of New York City sights made out of plant material. Paul Busse, a landscape architect and principal of his firm Applied Imagination, fashions hundreds of buildings, using only bark, seeds, petals and leaves, etc.. He even uses lichens. To wit, one of my favorites had to be the Guggenheim:

Of course, I also had to walk around the grounds and check out what was happening in the garden. Helleborus niger or Christmas rose or black hellebore, immediately caught my eye. Like Lenten rose, Christmas rose is named such due to the season in which it blooms. The common name black hellebore is applied becuase the rhizome (a long, flat tuber or bulb-like
structure) is black.

The flower structure you see above is a bit unusual. The white parts that look like petals are sepals. The larger, stringy yellow parts that look like stamens are actually nectaries, petals that have been modified to hold nectar. Pollinators are usually bees and flies.

Hellebores have a rich history of medicinal use. The plant's roots contain two chemicals, helleborein - which can be considered a cardiac poison, and helleborin, a narcotic posion. Highly toxic, the plant can be used as an emmenagogue, cathartic, diuretic or cardiac stimulant in low doses. Higher concentrations of Helleborus niger can cause death allegedly by relentless spasms and exhaustion. Wow, right? Apparently in ye olden times the plant was used to treat such outdated afflictions as hysteria, insanity and my new favorite word: dropsy, which is sort of like an extreme bloatedness.

Next week I'll be posting more photos of Busse's models along with some new plants.

Lobivia lonigispina

2009-12-10T06:31:00.001-08:00

I wish I could say I was posting a photo of the Argentina landscape I took myself, but these were emailed to me last year. Friends had sent me these photos as well as the ones of Jacaranda mimosifolia that I posted last year.

I never got around to posting these cacti photos. They'd be in bloom again now, so they merit some attention. The plant at the bottom left is most likely Lobivia longispina. I write "most likely" because there's a fair amount of dialogue on the differences between Lobivia and Echinopsis, or whether the two genera are one and the same.

But based on the long spines, I'm hedging this is Lobivia longispina. Both genera thrive in the dry soil comprised of degraded volcanic substrates. They also most often occur naturally within a limited elevation (1800-4000 m) and on north, east and northeast faces (read: they don't like direct sun).

Apparently the pulp of these plants is quite tasty though I hope I'll never be thirsty enough to wrangle with one of these plants when on a Patagonian hike.

MoMA

2009-12-08T05:24:00.000-08:00

I was at MoMA last weekend and decided to take a few pics of the Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Sculpture Garden. Yes, the image above says the Lillie P. Bliss Garden Plaza, but presumably the Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Sculpture Garden commences when one descends the steps on the right.

By the way, doesn't Lillie P. Bliss sounds almost like a pseudonym someone would daftly invent, were one in a screwball comedy? The real Miss Bliss was a key figure to MoMA due to the terms in her will. She left a large art collection to MoMA but also allowed MoMA to sell art from that collection in order to acquire better pieces. For example, Les Demoiselles d'Avignon was partially bought with funds raised by selling a Degas in Bliss's collection.

Back to the garden:

When MoMA was redesigned by architect Yoshio Taniguchi, Taniguchi preserved Philip Johnson's original design (1953) for the garden. Some expansions were made, but for the most part the garden was untouched.

Note that the bridge is comprised of only three slabs of marble. In the background, there are the Bertoia chairs we last saw in Paley Park.

The weeping European beech trees, or Fagus sylvatica, (so sensitive to compaction due to their shallow roots) were preserved, though I'm skeptical as to whether I could say the same of the birches (Betula populifolia); they look a bit small for the originals.

Birch trees seem to be a touch ubiquitous outside museums. The Tate Modern in London opened 53 years after MoMA, and birch trees were used once again. Of course, birches have an austere quality that mirrors the sense of peace and order you achieve in a museum, and they're vertical, compact plants which work in the urban environments of most museums.

Ilex verticillata

2009-12-07T12:16:00.000-08:00

Since we are well into December and Soho streets are getting thronged with tourists, it seems appropriate to do a post on Ilex verticillata or winterberry holly. Here's one in full fruit on the High Line.

Ilex verticillata (sometimes called fever bush, as is Lindera benzoin -- both species have been used as antiseptics and astringents) is an incredibly tough plant with a vast range - it can grow as far north as Nova Scotia and as far south as Florida. It thrives in wet soils and like most hollies, it prefers a slightly slightly acid pH.

Of course, the bare stems are beautiful and make frequent appearances in holiday floral decorations. I remember seeing fields of these hollies being grown in rural Virginia during college and stunned at the plants' beauty.

Like most hollies (but not all) this plant is dioecious, which means you'll need one male plant in order for the females to fruit.

Equisetum hyemale

2009-12-04T05:17:00.000-08:00

There are a fair amount of wetland plants listed on the High Line's plant list, one of which is Equisetum hyemale, or giant horsetail.

Now, at this point I have to pause to explain a bit about how I write this blog. I take my camera with me everywhere and if I see something that interests me, I take a photo of it. Most of the time I know what I'm looking at, but if I don't and I have the time, I try to identify the plant. After that I google it, trying to find some more information about the plant. If you're a regular reader, you know I have a soft spot for etymology or unusual things regarding plant morphology, lineage or ethnobotany.

I knew the plant above was Equisetum but you can imagine my excitement when the first hit on google reads as such:

Equisetum hyemale is not a rush however. Nor is it a fern. Equisetum is the single surviving genus of a class of primitive vascular plants that dates back to the ...

To the what?! Well, after reading on, I find that this species dates back to the mid-Devonian period (of course) which was about 350 million years ago. And little facts like that really make my day. (To assure you that I don't take the first google hit as gospel, know that I try to verify a fact like that on a few other reputable sites before regurgitating it on this blog.)

Equisetum is also lumped into the category of fern ally -- it means that while the plant is not a fern (another ancient primitive plant type), it is similar in that the plant doesn't flower, nor has seeds and instead reproduces with spores. Other fern allies include Lycopodium and Salaginella.

High Line, Rhus & Cotinus

2009-12-03T06:14:00.000-08:00

The palette of shrubs on the high line made a lot of sense to me. They are primarily tough plants and while not all are native, most of them are associated as colonial plants; plants which can inhabit a difficult environment.

Rhus typhina or staghorn sumac, definitely belongs in this category. You've probably seen this plant on the sides of highways or growing in craggy areas where few other plants succeed. The plant is called staghorn sumac because of the fuzzy stems -- they almost resemble the hairy antlers of a stag.

Below is another Rhus, Rhus glabra or smooth sumac.

Like most Rhus species, the plant has a characteristic red seed head, which as you can see, is quite beautiful.

Finally, a third Rhus, Rhus aromatica or fragrant sumac. I love this plant. It's tough, has great fall color and it emits a spicy aroma when the leaves are crushed. Of course, it's important to know the difference between this plant and it's more aggressive cousin, Rhus dermatitis, or poison oak.

I've spoken about Cotinus coggygria two times in the past. It's a plant I don't really love, since it seems so alien in almost any landscape. However, the small whips of this tree (or is it a shrub? It seems to occupy the no-man's land between these two categories...) that dotted the High Line seemed right.

And it's hard to deny the brilliance of its autumn color.

High Line, Perennials

2009-11-30T17:48:00.000-08:00

Even though it was late November when I visited the High Line, there was still a fair amount of perennials in bloom.

If you didn't know plants well, you may pause when seeing this plant, thinking it's a spring crocus. It is a crocus, but it's Crocus pulchellus or autumn crocus. Like the word 'pulchritude' pulchellus is derived from the Latin word for beautiful. I only saw one of these plants in the whole park and I wonder if some of them didn't survive since most bulbs are planted in the fall and not spring.

Aster tataricus, or tartarian aster, was a new plant for me. I recognized the flowers instantly as an aster or aster-like plant, but the coarse, dentate foliage was unlike the leaves I usually associate with the genus.

It turns out that Aster tartaricus root has been used by Chinese cultures as an expectorant, antifungal and antibacterial for over 2000 years. There is also a cancer-fighting chemical in the root though its success is not clearly documented.

The photos below are that of Knautia macedonica, or pincushion plant. You may recognize it as similar to the more ornamental Scabiosa, also called pincushion plant, and indeed the two are closely related.

Knautia is named for a botanist, but I found myself wondering what the root word was for its cousin, Scabiosa. Turns out that the rough leaves of Scabiosa were thought to be a cure for scabies and the name Scabiosa was applied.

Later this week we'll look at some of the grasses, shrubs and trees.

More High Line

2009-11-30T06:24:00.001-08:00

I promised to post more photos of the High Line last week, before delving into the plants in the park, but between deadlines and Thanksgiving, I never got around to it.

So, without further delay...

The High Line, as you may know, was a commercial rail track that ran along the lower west side of Manhattan. It was built in the 1930's and abandoned in the '80s. Remnants of the train rails remain, presumably as a reminder of the park's industrial past.

Long concrete "rails" cut swaths into the naturalistic plantings. I have heard some designers consider them trip hazards, but that seems a bit stodgy, considering children live for the chance to walk along balance beams of any kind.

This seating area takes good advantage of the framed view of the Statue of Liberty.

While the amphitheater seating that faces north on 9th Avenue gives pedestrians a chance to spy on the street level drama below.

Finally, an ingenious water fountain that recycles excess water by sending it into the plants' root zones.

More on the actual plants to come in the (deadline & holiday free) week to come!

Finally, the High Line

2009-11-23T05:06:00.000-08:00

I visited the High Line shortly after it opened in June. I went once again towards the end of summer, but both trips were spontaneous and I was camara-less. Yesterday I was determined to get some pictures of this new park, designed by a team led by landscape architects Field Operations, collaborating with Diller Scofidio (architecture), L'Observatoire International (lighting) and a slew of other consultants. For the purposes of this blog, of course, I was mostly interested in seeing Piet Oudolf's work -- he did the planting design.

And when I arrived at the park yesterday, I realized that it made perfect sense for me to delay so long in taking some photos. This is the time of year where Oudolf's work starts to galvanize into the painterly winter landscapes for which he's best known. Oudolf's work has always celebrated how plants look in the winter, rather than ignore this season altogether. He focuses on grasses and plants with distinctive, persistent seed heads.

Tomorrow or Wednesday I will show some more general shots of the park, then after Thanksgiving, we'll look at some of the plant species on display.

Agave Americana

2009-11-20T04:34:00.000-08:00

When I posted about Brugmansia I mentioned that the horticulturist at Central Park Zoo likes to experiment with marginally hardy plant materials. Agave americana is another plant in this category.

Agave americana is also called century plant, because this plant only blooms every ten years or so, and we all like a little hyperbole. When the plant does bloom it sends a very tall stalk into the air, high enough above the ground to protect the blossom from terrestrial predators. After the plant blooms, it dies.

If one were to cut the bloom's stem before the flower had opened, one could collect a sap - called agua miel (honey water) - ferment it and create a drink called pulque. Agave americana's cousin, Agave tequilana is of course responsible for a drink called tequila.

Cherries

2009-11-18T06:05:00.000-08:00

I inevitably overlook cherry trees (Prunus sp.). I don't know why. In the spring, I look forward to the crabapples, but then am always insensibly surprised by how beautiful cherries are in the spring.

I've mentioned them in passing once and mused on the poor use of the potentially beautiful weeping variety, but I've never acknowledged the lovely fall color they have.

The above is taken outside of the Stuyvesant town apartments - but all around the city I have noticed how lovely cherries look this time of year. The fiery oranges and sunburst yellows contrast well with the trees' dark bark and the evergreen Pachysandra beneath.

Cherries area always easy to spot, even in the winter. They are a coarse-limbed tree with a dark brown - almost black - bark with a rosy pink undertone. Of course, more notable than the color is the bark's smoothness, punctuated with lenticels. (Lenticels are specialized 'pores' in the bark that aid in gas exchange.) The easy way to describe cherry bark is to say it looks like Shantung or raw silk.

But if you weren't convinced you had encountered a cherry, and the leaves were still on the tree, you could look for the small 'pimple' at the base of the leaf's petiole. That is typical to Prunus.

I haven't used a species name in this post, primarily because cherries are so often hybridized. This plant is most likely a Prunus serrulata, but it could be a hybrid of several species.

290 Mulberry

2009-11-17T04:56:00.000-08:00

290 Mulberry is a condo that's been under construction for some time in Nolita. It looks like construction is pretty close to being wrapped up.

In the meantime, someone's having some fun with the building by staging a light show with the empty rooms.

Apologies in advance for the fact that the whole video ought to be rotated 90°!

Norway Maple

2009-11-12T12:58:00.000-08:00

These are some exquisite specimens of Norway maple (or Acer platanoides) growing in the cemetery at Old St. Patrick's Cathedral, in Nolita.

For those of you who don't live in New York City, I cannot impress upon you how rare it is to see a huge, spreading maple tree outside of Central Park. The walled cemetery has protected these trees well.

A couple weeks ago, we looked at sugar maples which, at first glance, can seem quite similar to Norway maples. The margins are entire, but Acer platanoides leaves are usually much larger, change color later in the season and change to a yellow hue, whereas Acer saccharum leaves are smaller and can turn yellow, orange and red.

The other undeniable difference between the two maples is in the leaf's petiole. Snap a leaf off a branch of the Norway maple and you will find the exuding sap is white. The sap on a sugar maple runs clear.

Here's a shot through the keyhole of the cemetery doors.

If we got a bit closer to the trees' trunks, we may find that the grass is not growing as vigorously. That's because Norway maples are allelopathic. Allelopathy (or more specifically, negative allelopathy) is a phenomenon where the maple can produce chemicals that limit the growth of other plants in its rootzone. For this reason, the non-native Norway maple is deemed invasive. Plants cannot grow beneath its canopy and thus the plant has more opportunity to spread. The dense shade of this larger-leaved maple amplifies this situation. I discourage students from utilizing this plant for these reasons.

Finally, though, I'll end on a light note. I've mentioned my aunt before, and that I tinker in her garden a bit. She has a large red-leaved cultivar of Norway maple in her front yard. When she bemoans the sad state of her lawn I remind her that the maple isn't helping things and she feels better. A couple months after we discussed this, she brought it up again and called the tree her Norwegian maple. Nowegian Wood, I get. Norwegian maple...not so much!

Veteran's Day, New York

2009-11-11T07:10:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned last week, I've been under some deadline pressure, but today, finally, I could sleep in and get to work a bit late.

When I was leaving my building - later than usual - I heard a policeman on a motorcycle zip up First Avenue, siren blaring. A man on the sidewalk, indignant, shouted to no one in particular, "Why can't he turn that motherfudging thing off?" (Only, he didn't say fudge.)

I'm sure he felt chagrined when it became evident that the policeman was leading a motorcade of vets, in honor of Veteran's Day.

Halesia tetraptera

2009-11-10T05:35:00.000-08:00

Since the last few posts have been about Central Park Zoo, I'll stay there for a bit longer, at least to talk about Halesia tetraptera, or Carolina silverbell.

Carolina silverbell is a small understory flowering tree that can ultimately reach a size of 30-40 feet (there's a larger one on the north side of Central Park bandshell, too). It has a lemony fall color that is evident in these photos, and in mid-spring the plant is covered with white bell-shaped flowers.

But today, and even after the leaves have fallen, the notable characteristic that remains is the seedpods. Tetraptera literally means four-winged and refers to the four flattened corners of the seedpod. Halesia is named for a botanist, Stephen Hales.

Snow Leopards, Central Park

2009-11-05T05:20:00.000-08:00

Last spring a new Snow Leopard exhibit opened in the Central Park Zoo. Despite the fact that I worked on the concept design when I was working at the Wildlife Conservation Society in 2006, I had yet to check out the exhibit until this fall.

It's been a busy week with deadlines so I haven't had much time to post to this site.

What better moment to post photos of incredibly beautiful felines??

The above is only posted so you can see the massive tails that snow leopards have -- they help keep the cats warm and I believe have something to do with their ability to leap great heights.

Definitely check out the exhibit if you're near the Central Park Zoo!

Brugmansia

2009-11-02T05:11:00.000-08:00

Central Park Zoo has a great collection of moderately hardy plants - the horticulturist there who oversees the grounds is always pushing the zonal limits for different species. I always love to see what he has growing there.

Brugmansia is one of these plants. Native to South America, this plant typically thrives in frost-free climates but has tolerated the Manhattan climate, for now.

Of course, it thrives in a warmer climate. For comparison to the above Central Park plant, here's shot of one growing in Barcelona:

Brugmansia is in the Solanaceae family, or the nightshade family. It is related to tomatoes, potatoes and some peppers. But, it's also related to some highly toxic plants and this species can be fatal if ingested in the wrong doses.

It's poison can have psychotropic effects, but it's toxicity makes ingesting the plant a very dangerous gamble. It has been used in shamanic practices by people from Peru and Amazonia.

Brugmansia is named for a botanist, Sebald Justin Brugmans.

Sugar Maple and a Brief Explanation of Fall Color

2009-10-29T04:48:00.000-07:00

When it comes to fall color, the sugar maple (Acer saccharum) may be king.

This specimen is turning yellow, but you can find sugar maples turn fiery orange and red as well.

A commenter asked earlier this week why leaves turn different colors in the fall, and now I'm going to attempt to answer in just a few short sentences....

Most people know that chlorophyll is the chemical compound in plants that is necessary for photosynthesis (the production of sugars and carbon dioxide in a plant). Chlorophyll is also a pigment that absorbs the blue and yellow colors from sunlight, making plants appear green. The more chlorophyll in a plant, the more green it appears (and also, the more energy it produces and in some cases, the faster it grows -- it's generally why green-leaved plants grow faster than their variegated counterparts).

In the fall - as the days become shorter and colder - a membrane grows between the twig and the leaf petiole which clogs up the flow of sugars and water between the leaf and the rest of the tree. This eventually prevents the chlorophyll from being productive and the compound breaks down.

That's where carotenes and anthocyanins - two other pigments in leaves - come in to play. These pigments exist in the leaf all year, but are overpowered by the presence of chlorophyll until autumn. The former absorbs blue-green and blue light, which means that the presence of carotene - once the chlorophyll is gone - can make a leaf look yellow. Anthocyanins absorb blue, blue-green and green light, which makes a leaf appear red. The amount of anthocyanins and carotene varies among species (and in the case of sugar maples, they vary among individual plants).

So now, when you see a tree that has yellow fall color, you can impress your friends by observing that said tree must have a high concentration of carotene. I'm sure they'll be fascinated!

Back to sugar maples, briefly. Sugar maples of course are responsible for maple syrup and, as the common name would imply, the tree's sap is quite sweet. They are also very hard-wooded trees and the lumber is used for basketball court floors, pool cues and bowling pins.

My students struggle with discerning differences between sugar, silver, Norway and red maples. I'll post some of these other species in the days to come. The important characteristics to look for in sugar maples are a smooth or entire leaf margin and furrowed bark. While Norway maples also have entire margins, their bark is more stripey (and the leaf petiole exudes a white milky substance). Unlike sugar maples, red maples have serrated edges and silver maples have deep leaf sinuses.

Acer comes from a Latin word for sharp - referring to the hard wood, which could be utilized to make spears. Saccharum means 'sugar' - like saccharine.

Grape Leaf Anemones

2009-10-28T05:19:00.000-07:00

Over the years of working in high-end residential design, certain perennials have consistently been used - earning a loyalty from designers due to their long period of flowers, the heartiness (and hardiness) and simple beauty. Anemone tomentosa 'Robustissima' is definitely among that group.

It can start to bloom as early as August and lasts well into November. It's an elegant perennial with soft pink or white blossoms and foliage that, as the common name indicates, looks a bit like grape leaves.

Anemone is from the Greek word for wind, anemos - legend has it that anemone flowers sprouted from the tears wept by Aphrodite after the death of Adonis. Of course, I think that story would refer more to Anemone blanda, or windflower, which is a bulb native to Greece.

Yellowwood

2009-10-26T04:55:00.000-07:00

Autumn really is a wonderful time of year for tree watching. Not just for the aesthetic pleasure of seeing various trees' leaves change from green to yellow, orange or red, but also because while this change is taking place, different trees will begin to reveal themselves to you.

For instance, the entry to Central Park near the 5th Avenue stop on the NR train has never slowed my pace very much. If I enter the park here, I usually rush down to the nearby pond (the one where we saw our friend taking a dip last August) and then begin to meander through the landscape.

But on Saturday, this yellow tree caught my eye before I'd even entered the park.

When I neared the tree I quickly realized it was yellowwood (or Cladrastis kentukea, or C. lutea). I was delighted. I love this tree, but until now I have only been able to show students a smallish specimen near the magnolias behind the Met, or the larger one in Jefferson Market Garden.

Yellowwood are fairly easy to identify. They have a pinnately compound leaf with leaflets quite larger than a honey locust, sophora or black locust. More specifically, the terminal leaflet is always broader in shape than the lateral leaflets. It is almost spatula-shaped, where the lateral ones are simple footballs.

Like those other trees with pinnately compound leaves, Cladrastis is in the Fabaceae or pea family (also considered the Leguminosae family). And, like other members of that family, the tree has long, pendulous sweetpea-like flowers in the late spring.

The bark is gray and smooth. If one were to trim a branch and look at the cut, they would see yellow heartwood, thus the common name.

Cladrastis comes from the Greek words klados (branch) and thraustos (fragile). clearly refers to a native range. The other species name, lutea, means yellow.

Beach Conifers

2009-10-22T04:32:00.001-07:00

I went to the Jersey shore last weekend with the hopes of getting some surfing in before the water got really cold. Alas, a quick look at the ocean confirmed my fears that the stormy weather had rendered the waves unsurfable.

So instead, I took a long walk and got some photos of plants that are typical to a beach location in the mid-Atlantic. I'll post a few more shots next week as I wait for the Manhattan fall color to really queue up. Today, we'll look at a few conifers.

Above you can see a small Juniperus virginiana, or eastern redcedar, in the foreground and a larger one further back. Redcedars aren't expressly dune plants but instead are considered colonial or pioneer plants. Their seeds are often deposited by birds in disturbed or nutrient-poor landscapes like sand dunes and the edges of highways. The saplings survive the tough conditions and provide habitat for more birds and small mammals, which in turn brings more plant diversity. (That's a very abridged version of an aspect of forest succession.)

Like other junipers, this plant has the distinctively aromatic berries which will immediately remind some of you of gin. Many mistakenly believe gin is made from these berries, but instead gin is a grain alcohol that is flavored with the berries.

Junipers can be tough to ID if no berries are present; one could confuse a juniper with a Thuja, Chamaecyparis or Cupressus, to name a few. But, a close look at the branchlet (in this case a leaf is one individual scale, what's in my hand above is called a branchlet), shows that junipers have two different leaf types. The juvenile leaf, found at the terminal tip of the branchlet, is spikier and has a sharp tip that points away from the stem. Mature leaves are flattened down against the stem -- these are the leaves nearer to my fingers. The presence of these juvenile and mature leaves are a great way to confirm that the plant you see is Juniperus.

Another plant you often find on the beach is Pinus thunbergii, or Japanese black pine. A non-native, this plant is often encountered on beaches due to its high tolerance to salt spray and its evident low requirement for nutrients.

Pinus thunbergii's needles are stiff and smooth, found in fascicles of two. While the specimen above is fairly symmetrical, as this tree ages it can achieve a gnarled sculptural appearance due to the pruning affect of the wind.

Book Review: Shade Gardening

2009-10-21T07:01:00.000-07:00

A former student wrote me yesterday, mentioning my post about plants for beachy locations, and asked me if I could recommend a few books for shade gardening. I can.

I really like Ken Druse's Natural Shade Garden because it includes actual information about shade-loving plants in addition to images and discussion of good plant combinations. The photos are enchanting and plants are named in the captions.

Similar to the Druse book is Keith Wiley's Shade. This is a slightly slimmer book, and though I prefer the images in the Druse book, Shade has a great glossary of plants in the back for easy reference.

Both the above books draw inspiration from woodlands - as the plants that naturally occur in woodlands are tolerant of shade. And of course, woodlands (or most of them) are only really in shade after the canopy leafs out and until the leaves fall in autumn. A great book on woodland plants is Beth Chatto's Shade Garden.