Mauna Kea and Hawaiian Blueberry

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.

Kalmia latifolia

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.

Rosa rugosa

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.

Aloha! ...And other stuff

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.

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).

Stachyurus praecox

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.

Snow Azalea

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.

Pieris japonica

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.

Glossy Abelia

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.

Elder

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.

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!

Ilex verticillata

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.

High Line, Rhus & Cotinus

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.