Dividing In The Green

Multiplying Minor Bulbs

As summer edges out spring, fading bulb foliage can seem to detract from the garden’s good looks. However, since nutrients from foliage are directed back into the storage bulb, removing those floppy leaves will weaken the plant and diminish next year’s display. (This is also true for lilies.) If you can’t stand to look at them, gently cover browning leaves with loose, airy mulch or tuck them behind an emergent neighbor.

Where spring bulbs clumps are crowded, or when you’d like to spread minor bulbs around the garden, it’s best to carry out these tasks ‘in the green’. That means doing the moving and dividing while the foliage is still more green than brown. (This is less important with tiny bulbs like crocus, which may already be dormant: simply sift them out of the soil and replace them where you want to see them next season.)

A Splendor Of Snowdrops

One great advantage of moving in the green is that you can see where the bulbs are so you don’t chop them with a roving shovel or fork. For larger bulbs, moving in the green also ensures a smoother transition, especially for snowdrops, which, though happy spreaders when undisturbed, can be fussy about sudden moves. Most winters, snowdrops appear in January, their tightly sheathed buds poking through frosty ground, spreading in small white wings at the first thaw. For all their delicacy of modeling, their toughness is impressive. On a cold morning after a hard frost, the flowers collapse, seemingly melted to mush. A few hours later, the warming sun revives them and they rise again, crisp and faintly fragrant.

Common snowdrops, Galanthus nivalis, grow up to 7 inches tall, with bell-shaped blossoms that boast no petals, having instead three larger, outer tepals and three smaller, inner ones that form a sort of slender, inverted cup. The blossoms have the substance and texture of slubbed silk, and the inner tepals are marked on their fronts with green fish or hearts and neatly penciled with green inside. A larger cousin, G. elwesii, is known as the Giant snowdrop, stretching 10 or 11 inches high, with plumper flowers that usually have showier green markings. The Crimean snowdrop, G. plicatus, gets even taller (as much as a foot), while a Mediterranean species, G. reginae-olgae, blooms leafless in fall.

A Flurry Of Snowflakes

Larger and later blooming, snowflakes are European amaryllis kin that have naturalized in parts of the US. The nodding white flowers are formed by six tepals, making an open bell shape, each tepal  marked with a green dot. The Spring snowflake, Leucojum vernum, which blooms from February into March, can stretch well over a foot in height. After the flowers fade, the lush foliage droops over everything around it, making it a good candidate for rustic woodlands and back-of-the-border placement.

The Summer snowflake, L. aestivum, blooms (usually) from April through May, though this year mine were spent by the end of March. The flowers are similar but smaller, on stems that can reach 2 feet. Here in the States, it seems most often represented by the large flowered form called Gravetye Giant, which commemorates William Robinson’s famous home and garden in West Sussex, England. Robinson, equally famous for his mid-Victorian garden writing and his pioneering garden designs, wrote one of my own favorites, The Wild Garden (1870), perhaps the first garden book to promote naturalistic design.

Making Them Multiply

To divide early blooming bulbs in the green, fork up clumps after the flowers have faded but while the foliage is still sturdy. Split each clump into clusters of 3-5 bulbs, then replant these a foot or so apart. Unlike those lovely, flashy border tulips, minor bulbs like snowdrops and crocus are reliable perennials, often multiplying quickly when their modest needs are met. Like most bulbs, they want plenty of light and water from winter into mid-spring, but once dormant, bulbs must rest dry and undisturbed, well away from shovels and summer irrigation.

Both snowdrops and crocus look lovely spangling the lawn or meadow, but if they are to naturalize, their hosting turf can’t be mown until their foliage withers and seed ripens. Since this typically occurs between mid April and mid May, lawn mowers must leave the grass surrounding the bulbs until then. Otherwise, the bulbs won’t store up the energy they need to make next year’s flowers and foliage, and will soon dwindle away altogether. Yet another example of the positive power of Benign Neglect!

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A Delicious Mystery

The Sweetest Story Ever

Sweet peas have been garden favorites for at least three centuries, yet to this day, nobody knows for sure where they originated. Though long thought to be native to the Mediterranean, provocative claims have been made for a Chinese, Maltese, Sri Lankan, or even South American origin. Western gardeners learned about sweet peas in the 1690s, when a Sicilian monastery gardener, Francisco Cupani, sent some to Caspar Commelin, a botanist in the Netherlands, and (it’s thought) to an English gardener, Roger Uvedale. Today, we can still grow Lathyrus odoratus Cupani’s Original, a powerfully scented bicolor sweet pea  with burgundy upper petals and vivid pink wings that cover bushy plants some 5-6 feet high.

By the mid 1700s, several color variations were being grown, notably Painted Lady, an intensely scented, delicately tinted bicolor with rosy upper petals and soft pink wings, also still in cultivation. By the mid- to late 1800s, several hundred sweet peas were being grown, and the hybridizing boom continued into the 1920s. Henry Eckford, a Scottish professional gardener, developed over 150 sweet pea cultivars, some of which are still commercially available, notably the large-flowered Grandiflora types. Showboat Spencer types, ruffled and frilly but scentless, were found by the Earl of Spencer’s head gardener at Althorp. The same parent plant (Eckford’s Prima Donna) produced very similar sports elsewhere around the same time, but the Spencers took over the market in the early 1900s.

American Sweet Peas

By that time, sweet peas were hugely popular with North Americans, both as garden plants and cut flowers. Indeed, California’s growers shipped trainloads of sweet peas all over the country. Henry Eckford worked closely with Luther Burbank and other American seedsmen and breeders, and Cupid, Burpee’s first dwarf sweet pea (still in cultivation) won an RHS award of merit in 1893. Soon, California’s rich growing fields and well trained workers (who could recognize and remove rogue plants) were supplying consistently true-to-name sweet pea seed to English seed companies.

Around this time, W Atlee Burpee, a Pennsylvania chicken farmer seeking inexpensive feed crops, realized that he could make more money selling seeds than raising poultry. He moved his seed business to California and the rest is horticultural history. (Today, Burpee Seed Company is part of Ball Flora Seed.) Sweet pea breeding continues, bringing greater disease resistance, longer bloom times, adaptability, and a wider range of colors to one of the world’s most beloved blossoms. At the same time, the oldest known forms are being preserved, so modern gardeners can enjoy both the best of the old and the new.

Perennial Peas

A different species, Lathyrus latifolius, produces an abundance of lovely, long blooming, but unscented blossoms in white, rose, lavender or pink. Unlike the early blooming sweet peas, this reliably perennial species flowers continuously from early summer into autumn and goes dormant over the winter. The best known are sold as Pearl Mixtures and Pearl solid shades.

Keeping Sweet Peas Super Fragrant

These days, many flowers don’t smell as strongly as they once did, especially when grown in urban areas. Research shows that polluted air can reduce plant fragrances significantly, making them less attractive to their natural pollinators. Ground-level ozone in particular biologically disrupts fragrance production and breaks down scent molecules quickly, so they don’t travel as far on the air. Researchers predict that this double whammy will continue to decrease pollination rates over time. A study published in September 2015 in the journal New Phytologist suggests that the increasing ground-level ozone pollution caused by climate change is the game changer.

According to the EPA, unlike natural environmental ozone, ground-level ozone results from the blending of VOCs (volatile organic compounds produced mainly by cars and trucks, power plants, and factories) and oxides of nitrogen in the presence of sunlight. Both release of VOCs and ground-level ozone are increasing annually, and a 2014 study published in the journal Nature Climate Change estimates that ground-level ozone will reduce global food production by 15 percent by the year 2050 if current production rates are maintained.

Let’s All Help!

How can we help? We can support EPA efforts to reduce VOC production, and we can plant more gardens. Everything we do to nurture, support and protect bees and other pollinators will help, even in the smallest garden (or window box!). The easier it is for them to find food and shelter, the stronger and more resilient pollinator populations will be. We can also help by building our soil quality, adding humus in the form of mature, high quality compost and aged dairy manure to promote the development of natural sugars (brix). Not only do pollinator-reliant food crops with higher brix levels taste better, they also have higher quality pollen and nectar and even their fragrance essences are more abundant and of better quality.

Here’s more info about scent reduction and loss:

http://www.thealternativedaily.com/pollution-making-flowers-less-sweet-smelling/

http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/nph.13620/abstract;jsessionid=CE4584E9DC3C4398A737E4AFE5C8CD8A.f03t02
http://environmentalresearchweb.org/cws/article/yournews/52940

http://www3.epa.gov/ozonepollution/

http://newsoffice.mit.edu/2014/climate-change-air-pollution-will-combine-curb-food-supplies-0727

Posted in Early Crops, Easy Care Perennials, fall/winter crops, Garden Prep, Health & Wellbeing, Nutrition, Pollinators | Tagged , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Ornamental And Edible Oreganos

Mediterranean Kitchen & Garden Delights

Edible or ornamental, perennial oreganos are among my favorite easy-going border edgers. Deer and disease resistant, their long lasting flowers are always lovely and sometimes fabulous, even (or especially) in their dried stage, making them a welcome addition to the winter garden as well. Perhaps because they come from stony, sun blasted Mediterranean regions, all oreganos look especially beautiful when partnered with rocks and grasses. For a dazzling display, pair Hopley’s Purple oregano with pink Muhly grass (Muhlenbergia capillaris), or partner Barbara Tingey oregano with Mexican feather grass (Nasella tenuissma) and wait for the wows.

A happy spreader, oregano grows best in full sun and open, well drained soil. Most forms do better in poor, lean soils than in rich ones; excess nutrients and water dilute their zesty flavors, and heavy soils can make oreganos prone to root rots. In my garden, they are especially flavorful and beautiful when grown in sandy loam, with a generous top dressing of aged dairy manure. For the kitchen, harvest foliage before the plants bloom, removing about half of each stem (usually 2-4 inches from the non-woody parts). Dry in hanging bunches in a warm, dry, dim place, or in wetter climates/summers, dry them on racks or screens so the leaves dry evenly and don’t mold(!). Freeze, well packaged, for a year or even more, or store in tightly sealed jars in a dim cool place for up to 6 months.

Your Basic Kitchen Oregano

The mother of our kitchen oreganos is Origanum vulgare, native throughout Europe and the Mediterranean and into Asia. A traditional medicinal plant, it’s also been a common culinary herb for thousands of years. Many of its forms and subspecies have been selected and preserved by gardeners and cooks and today, a little searching will introduce you to oreganos that offer a surprisingly wide range of tastes and textures.

The straight species forms dense mounds of aromatic, deep green foliage, threaded in summer with soft purple flowers on slim stems up to 2 feet high. Though less assertive than Greek oreganos, most forms of O. vulgare have a lively flavor. A handsome form called Hot and Spicy is similar in size, with a pronounced bite that makes it  perfect for pizza and pasta dishes. There are quite a few variegated forms of which Aureum Gold is is especially pretty in the spring, spreading in joyful splashes of clear lemony yellow. Golden Crinkled (O. vulgare crispum) is quite compact (to about 6”) and the quilted leaves are lovely in salads. Taller (6-12”) and subtly gilded, Jim Best is probably an O. vulgare form with a savory, spicy flavor that’s great in dressings, rubs, and salt blends. Westacre Gold (O. vulgare variegata) boasts old gold foliage and rosy flowers on foot-high, copper-pink stems. Another form called Variegated (also O. vulgare variegata) marries olive green leaves edged with butter and cream with white to pink flowers.

Kitchen Kin

A tiny-leaved creeping oregano, Mini Compact (Origanum humile), has equally miniature flowers from spring into midsummer. It makes 6-inch mounds that look at home in the rock garden and do well in kitchen garden containers, where its delicate sprigs are often gathered for tasty garnishes. As with any plant with so much variation and human history, there is some discussion about the legitimacy of various names. Some folks insist that Origanum compacta (or sometimes compactum) nana and Origanum vulgare subsp. hirtum Humile are identical, though different nurseries sell quite different plants under each of these names. I’ve ordered both plants from different nurseries and what I received were always different plants.

The version I’m growing as Greek Kaliteri (Origanum vulgare ssp. hirtum) has fuzzy silver leaves on rather open mounds, with tall bloom stalks. This one has amazing flavor, especially if grown a bit dry. It was imported, not surprisingly, from Greece, where it is a commercial crop for high-end herb sellers. Kaliteri means “the best” in Greek and I believe it! My form of Origanum vulgare ssp. hirtum is sold as Greek oregano, which it is, being a wild form collected from Greek mountainsides. This one has smooth green leaves with rich, spicy flavor that makes it a kitchen favorite with anything that includes tomatoes. A compact, carpeting green leaved form from Crete called Greek Mountain Oregano (O. herocleoticum) is prized as both a medicinal and culinary herb. A full flavored Italian Oregano is the one to sprinkle over sliced tomatoes and fresh mozzarella as well as pizza.

Marvelous Marjorams

Marjorams are hardy perennial oregano cousins with a sweeter, gentler flavor. Fresh foliage of Sweet Hardy Marjoram (Origanum majorana) is tender and mild, and I often use them whole in salads and on sandwiches or minced for dressings. A Middle Eastern Mediterranean species, Origanum syriaca, has several heritage forms, including Zaatar marjoram, with thick, fuzzy leaves and purple stems. It has a complex flavor that suggests sweet marjoram blended with sharper oregano, with perhaps a hint of thyme. A sister form called Cleopatra is suitably stylish, making lovely mounds of silvery foliage that is delicious fresh or dried. Cleo tastes a bit minty, making the chopped leaves pleasant in salads and as a beautiful garnish.

Ornamental Oreganos

These hardy perennials are mostly edible but usually not as tasty as the culinary varieties. Their role is to provide fascinating textures and subtle color, which they do brilliantly. As it happens, my dear Hopley’s Purple (Origanum laevigatum) is as tasty as it is pretty, an effortless edger that looks good for most of the year. Kent Beauty (O. rotundifolium x O. scabrum) spills its darling pink and green bracts in ruffled clusters above grey-green foliage. Showiest in a hanging basket or positioned on a slope, this bushy little herb smells better than it tastes. A sister version of the same cross,  Barbara Tingey boasts blue-grey foliage and similarly tinted bracts that overlap to form rounded balls that dangle from wiry stems like cat toys. Another hybrid, Amethyst Falls, offers chartreuse to silvery pink, hoplike bracts, overlapping like fish scales, each involucre plump and tapering as magical mermaids tails and tipped with a flurry of shocking pink florets.

A highly ornamental form of culinary oregano, Bristol Grass (sometimes sold as Bristol Cross), combines fine-textured foliage with long-stemmed, slim bracts shaded green to pale purple, with swinging floral skirts of lively pink. It’s especially good in hanging baskets or tall containers and, not surprisingly, is delicious as well as intriguingly good looking. Finally, a charming Greek wildflower, Dittany of Crete (Origanum dictamnus), makes a stunning little rock garden plant, its silver frosted foliage setting off cascades of pink bracts ending in silvery lavender flowers. Tenderest of all the oreganos I’ve grown, dittany demands extremely sharp drainage and full sun all day. Bon appetite!

Posted in Drainage, Easy Care Perennials, preserving food, Soil, Sustainable Gardening, Sustainable Living | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Gardening Without Pain

Stretch Or Kvetch

All week, I’ve visited with groaning friends who can’t stand up straight, or don’t dare sit in a soft chair, can’t turn their heads, or can’t bend without yelping. I too am somewhat incapacitated by a pulled rib. What dreadful disorder lies behind all these physical woes? Sadly, the culprit is the garden, or to be more precise, the gardeners. Though advancing age could conceivably play a tiny part in this scenario, I  was weirdly pleased to note that some of the complainers were far younger than I (though admittedly none were under 40. Hmmm.) I gladly dish out arnica gel and cannabis muscle soothing cream and offer hopefully not-too-smug reminders about stretching BEFORE gardening as well as after.

If I am smug (I probably am), perhaps it’s partly because I have deliberately moderated my gardening techniques quite a bit over time, as arthritis and variously damaged this-es and thats have cramped my original style. Also, sad but true, I am not as strong as I was a decade or two ago, nor as sure-footed on ladders or when climbing up in trees. Though I still garden often, it hasn’t regularly been a daily activity for me for some years now, largely due to family obligations that kept me inside more than out. Thus, I am newly learning my own pace, balancing lifetime skills with changing abilities. I have never been fond of accepting limitations so this is not really a whole lot of fun. However, accepting reality turns out to be a whole lot less painful than denying it. Sigh.

Gardening As Tai Chi

One of the greatest aids to limitation acceptance has been my return to tai chi. After some twenty years of total abandonment of the practice, I was lured back in January by a dear friend. At first it felt very odd; my mind remembered very little, but my body delightedly recalled exactly how it wanted to feel and move (though wanting and doing are not exactly the same, sadly again). By the second practice session, even my clumsy, unaccustomed versions of the moves felt blissful and now I find myself grinning like a happy fool through every class.

We are blessed with a kindly and compassionate teacher who offers his students the freedom to do the tai chi form their particular body is inclined or able to do on a given day. That’s quite a new idea for me, and I am finding it refreshingly realistic and pleasantly uncharged with expectation. That’s not to say his form is sloppy or casual, not at all. However, his teaching style thoughtfully accommodates both the energetic, youthful, and skillful as well as the lame and the halt (or the tired and the wounded).

A Supple Spine Promotes Athletic Gardening

I had forgotten just how beautifully tai chi helps to build balance and core strength, even when done imperfectly. Even, or perhaps especially, the simple drills I practice at home help enormously. Walking attentively, shifting weight through the feet, dropping the center of balance, keeping the lower back open, all work to restore some suppleness to stiffening backs and knees. This is extremely helpful, and when I bend and stoop and kneel and crouch or roll about on the soggy ground, or find myself leaning over backwards or turning almost upside down to fit a saw or pruner into a tight tangle of branches, I am deeply grateful for all those stretching and balancing exercises.

For gardeners, the most important tai chi concept may be that of the straight and elongated spine. Sitting (which most of us do far too much of) compacts the spine and causes a lot of lower back issues. Standing around (usually depending mainly on one foot) isn’t much better, but tai chi offers a magic move: the Pelvic Tilt, a little forward tuck of the tailbone that involves the abs and core muscles. This small adjustment shifts one’s weight downward to the lower belly, dividing evenly between both feet and making one’s stance a lot more stable.

Simple Warm-Ups For Safer Pruning

Many, many unfortunate accidents occur because armed and dangerous people attempt to work with sharp tools. Pruning becomes both safer and far easier when we are internally grounded, our weight held low in the belly instead of high in the chest (or worse, the head). We can then stand securely on one foot with our saw-bearing, outstretched arm counterbalanced by an uplifted back leg rather than a flailing foot. Similarly, planting is a breeze once one has mastered (mistressed?) the art of the Third World Squat, a fairly straight-backed position that allows amazing freedom of arm and hand movement. For how-to’s, consult  a National Geographic for a folks-around-the-fire picture.

If soreness has plagued you in the past, here are some excellent ways to avoid it in the future. However, please internalize the fact that that knowing is not enough; one must also DO to get the benefits. First of all, to keep heavy gardening chores pleasant and invigorating, don’t try to make up for a winter of neglect in a weekend from hell. Do just a bit at a time, and create a new habit: from now on, always start any gardening, heavy or light, by warming up your neck, shoulders, arms, and hands. The whole business takes about ten minutes so there is really no excuse for not doing these very simple, body-saving stretches. None!

Neck Rolls First

Begin with 10 neck rotations, avoiding the backward position: Drop your right ear toward the right shoulder, letting the shoulder slope away earthward. Roll your chin to your chest, then repeat to the left. Return your chin to your chest between each side, but don’t roll your head backward, which can strain the neck muscles.

Next, circle both shoulders 10 times, forwards and backwards. Raise your arms and rotate them at shoulder height 10 times in each directions. Now, with your arms at your sides, lightly clench your hands and circle your wrists 10 times forwards and backwards, then squeeze and release your hands 10 times. Shake out your hands lightly; they should tingle just a bit.

Hula Aloha

To loosen the waist, do 10 hip circles forwards and backwards (pretend you are using a hula hoop). Shake out each leg for a few seconds and jump almost-but-not-quite off the ground on both feet together 10 times. Now end up by shaking out your hands and arms again for 5 seconds. After all that, you should feel brisk and warm, with all joints loosened up and ready for action.

If you feel sore after working, do the hula aloha again, then do some pelvic tilts and gently rock the spine forward and backward. If your back still feels tight, lie down on a yoga mat or rug and press the small of your back to the floor, holding through five full breaths before releasing. Do that gently a few times and then take five minutes to reverse the blood flow to your legs; relax against a wall with your feet up, heels pointing toward the ceiling, and your legs supported by the wall. Onward!

Posted in Health & Wellbeing, Pruning, Sustainable Gardening, Sustainable Living | Tagged , | 2 Comments