Camellia japonica

Despite the fact that it is *far* too cold for late November, plants are still managing to bloom.

Here's a Camellia japonica at the BBG, blooming in the Japanese garden:



Thank goodness for winter-blooming plants! Happy Thanksgiving!

Nandina domestica

Nandina domestica, unfortunately, has gorgeous fall color this time of year:


I say it's unfortunate because in the past ten years or so it's become apparent that this plant is fairly invasive in the southeast US. I suppose it is not a total surprise, as this plant is in the Berberidaceae family, which also includes Berberis thunbergii, the Japanese barberry, which is also highly invasive.



When I teach students about invasive plants like barberry and nandina, I try to instill some sense of responsibility in them. While I personally am not outraged by the use of these plants in intensely urban conditions (where they will have a very hard time finding nearby woods to invade), one should seriously consider alternatives when they live in suburban or rural areas, as no doubt such species will misplace the native herbaceous and shrub layer of forests and meadows.

The plant above is growing in my parents place in Virginia. They have a wooded lot, so while we haven't removed it, we do check out the woods and remove any would-be conquerers.

Many feel that native plants should be exclusively used in order to prevent invasion of plants like nandina and barberry into nearby natural habitats. It's an ongoing debate. While I avoid using invasive plants, I don't eschew all exotic species, though some may consider it more politically correct.

I've begun reading the Robert Sullivan book, Rats: Observations on the History and Habitat of the City's Most Unwanted Inhabitants. Coincidentally enough, last night I read an interesting description of the native/non-native debate in a footnote I've copied below. It doesn't address the subtle, vital difference between non-native and invasive, but it did include some new information:

The term native when used in regards to plants and animals can be complicated. In an essay entitled "The Mania for Native Plants in Nazi Germany," published in a collection called Concrete Jungle, Joachim Wolschke-Bulmahn, the director of Studies in Landscape Architecture at Dumbarton Oaks, in Washington , D.C., says, "The missionary zeal with which so-called foreign plants are condemned as aggressive is significant. Such characterizations do not contribute to a rational discussion about the future development of our natural and cultural environment, but possibly promote xenophobia." Wolschke-Bulmahn points out that some plants that are considered "native" to the United States may have been carried over from Siberia by people migrating to American over a land bridge, and he writes of an early proponent of native plants, Jens Jensen, a landscape architect who lived in Wisconsin who advocated the destruction of "foreign" plants, especially "Latin" or "Oriental" plants. Jensen had close ties to Nazi landscape architects in Germany. In a journal, Jensen wrote: "The gardens I have created myself...shall express a spirit of American and therefore shall be free of foreign character as far as possible." In 1938, Rudolph Borchardt, a Jewish writer persecuted by the Nazis, wrote this of native plant advocates like Jensen: "If this kind of garden-owning barbarian became the rule, then neither a gillyflower nor a rosemary, neither a peach-tree nor a myrtle sapling nor a tea-rose would ever have crossed the Alps. Gardens connect people, time and latitudes...The garden of humanity is a huge democracy. It is not the only democracy which such clumsy advocates threaten to dehumanize."

The book, by the way, is a terrific read, not only full of fascinating, at times squeamish, information about rats but also about New York City history. It reads very easily, too.

Wollemia nobilis

A week ago yesterday, I was on the train coming from Brooklyn to Manhattan. A seasoned New Yorker, I can tune out my neighbors on the train with ease. But when one of the people to my left said "botany" I immediately began to pay attention. He was talking about the academic landscape of plant sciences to a man and a woman, who I later learned, were his daughter and grandson.


I had to interrupt. It turns out that the man speaking was a plant scientist, working at the herbarium of the University of Florida. He had taken his family to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden to see Wollemia nobilis, or the Wollemia pine, discovered for the first time in 1994.




Wollemia was found in the Wollemi National Park, 200 km away from Sydney. That's just over 100 miles. 100 miles from a major city, and yet, this plant was growing unnamed, unidentified by all. That's kinda amazing these days. It was discovered by a park officer named David Noble (thus nobilis for a species name).



The specimen at the BBG was petite, to say the least. The largest ones found in the Wollemi Park reached 130 feet. The plant is unique in that the flattened leaves can grow off the stem in two ranks, as well as four ranks.



Wollemia is in the Araucariaceae family, and perhaps it's most recognizable relative in this climate would be the monkey puzzle tree, or Araucaria araucana, which is native to Chile and Argentina.

Araucaria araucana in the Jardin du Plantes, Paris.

Scientists have compared the pollen of Wollemia to fossils of pollen, and Wollemia's pollen more closely resembles the fossil pollen than any living genus in this plant family. Wollemia has other characteristics that make it closely resemble plants from the Cretaceous era, meaning this species has most likely survived for over 90 million years.


I think this whole story is incredible. On the one hand, you have a plant growing in a fairly well-tread area and yet it wasn't discovered until 1994. On the other, you have an individual who saw this tree and knew his plants well enough to realize this was something different. The comprehensive knowledge one must have to spot a new species is impressive. Finally, it's simply exciting to know that we haven't seen it all yet. Not nearly, one hopes.

Student Post, English Oak

This post is by Ngoc Ngo, who is also an accomplished photographer:

The English countryside is full of magnificent trees, and the English Oak , Quercus robur, is among the most majestic. Known to grow from the Urals and the Caucasus, from Mount Taurus and Mount Atlas, almost to the Arctic Circle, it is a tree full of historical and mythological associations. In ancient times, massive oak forests covered most of central Europe, and oak was the favorite timber of the Greeks and Romans. Being particularly prone to lightning strikes, the oak tree was associated with the supreme gods in many ancient cultures, including Zeus, Jupiter, and Thor. Ancient kings wore crowns of oak leaves to symbolize their roles as representatives of gods on earth. In ancient Rome, it was also the custom for commanders to wear crowns of oak leaves during their victory parades.



Historically, the English valued the oak for its strength and durability, which made excellent timber for building ships and churches. Much of Tudor architecture was built with oak. Because of their size and longevity, oak trees were often planted as boundary markers. Prominent oak trees were also used as the locations for the reading of the Gospel during ceremonies, leading to their being known as Gospel Oaks. The high tannin content of the oak bark was found to be useful for tanning leather during the Industrial Revolution. Other common uses for the bark included making brown ink and a tonic for treating harness sores on horses.

The cultural significance of oak trees in England is summed up by the historian Simon Schama; “Ancient Britons were thought to have worshipped them; righteous outlaws are sheltered by them; kings on the run hide in them; hearts of oak go to sea and win empires.” The oak is a symbol of strength, refuge, longevity and resilience. Robin Hood was reputed to hide in the hollow of an oak tree. King Charles the Second also found refuge in another hollow ancient oak tree near Boscobel on September 6, 1651 before successfully reclaiming his crown. The accommodating tree became known as the Royal Oak, and today there are countless pubs in England with the same name.



Botanically, Quercus robur is in the Fagaceae family. Its common name is English Oak, or Pedunculate Oak. Its size can reach 75 to 100 feet in height and width. Its leaves are alternate, simple, obovate to obovate-oblong, 2 to 5” long, with rounded lobes, rounded apex and auriculate to rounded base. The earlobe-like (auriculate) leaf base is a distinguishing feature from the otherwise similarly shaped Q. alba leaf. There are 3 to 7 pairs of veins on the leaf, which is dark green above and pale blue-green underneath. The bark is deeply furrowed and grayish black in color. Q. robur is monoecious, and the flowers appear 7-14 days after the leaves burst. Fertilized flowers develop into acorns of about 1” long, narrow elongated conical, enclosed by a cap. The acorns ripen in the autumn and fall on the ground before the leaves drop.

The Greek botanical writer Theophrastus, writing around 300 BC noted: “The oak bears more things beside its fruit than any other tree.” The complex ecosystem of an oak tree provides the habitat for at least 350 varieties of insect, more organisms than any other trees. The insects in turn attract birds. Caterpillars and moths also feed on oak leaves. In southern England, the oak trees also host colonies of the rare Purple Emperor Butterfly in the summer months. In the autumn, the acorns that fall to the ground provide an important food source for wood pigeons, rooks, squirrels, and mice, all of which in turn attract birds of prey, such as sparrow hawks and owls.



The life expectancy of an oak averages from 200 to 400 years; however, there are specimens aged over 800 years. The oldest oak in England is thought to be the Bowthorpe Oak in Bourne, which is estimated to be over 1,000 years old. My favorite is this beautiful specimen in the countryside of Sussex, south of London. The tree stands alone in an open field dissected by a public footpath. I have spent many wonderful hours walking along this footpath, and I am always happy to see the sight of this magnificent tree, a symbol of strength and a source of so much life.