Callicarpa and Penn Station (the good one)

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!

Callicarpa

Beautyberry, or Callicarpa, is a favorite plant of mine. It's a medium-sized shrub and while it may be a little too loose or sprawling to work as a specimen plant, or to play any structural role in a design, it is gorgeous en masse.

In the spring the leaves emerge with a perfect chartreuse green hue. It is particularly noticeable when it brightens up a shady spot. In mid-summer, small pink flowers bloom along the stem.

The summer flowers are nice enough, but the real show is in the fall, when a magenta-colored fruit forms where the flowers once were.

The stems of new growth also turn magenta as the days become shorter.

Personally, I think this is underused, though you can find it in spots of City Hall Park and Battery Park. There are two species: C. dichotoma (a native) and C. japonica. These photos are most likely of the non-native species, which has smaller leaves.

Callicarpa is easy to break down in Latin. Calli- means beautiful and -carpa is derivative of fruit or body. A direct translation will more or less give you the common name, beautyberry.

Corylopsis glabrescens

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).

Hemerocallis

Here's a smattering of daylilies, for your enjoyment:


Hemerocallis literally means "beauty of the day" in Greek. Calli- means beauty (Callicarpa, as another example, is named for its attractive magenta fruit: calli- = attractive; -carpa= fruit or body, related to corpus). Hemero means day.


The reason for the nomenclature (both scientific and common) is obvious enough to those who know this plant. Each morning, daylilies unfurl tubular flowers that last only until nightfall. The next day, a different bud will open. And so on. The plants typically have enough stems that you get a good bloom mileage, even though no individual flower lasts more than a day.



Before I understood how they worked - quite a while ago - I remember feeling foolish for cutting a stem and adding it to a vase. Daylilies are, obviously, not great cut flowers. This doesn't stop people from collecting them, though -- there are thousands of cultivars ranging in all colors, save for blue and pure white. Personally, I prefer the pale, creamy yellows; 'Lemon Mint' is gorgeous. Of course, the traditional canary hues are classics, too. Daylilies are not native, but are naturalized down in Viginia -- you see them on the sides of roads.



To me, there's a certain romance to the ephemeral quality (there's that Greek again: ephemeral) of the flowers.