February 2015

Planters Punchlines

Men’s Garden Club of Wethersfield

February 2015

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"Hydroponic Gardening by Cell Phone"

@ Men’s Garden Club of Wethersfield February Meeting

Monday February 23 @ 7:00 pm in the Pitkin Community Center

Our January meeting was snowed out so we’ll try again in February. Wethersfield resident Paul Langdon will talk about his and Curt Downing's prize-winning compact, vertical hydroponic garden — made of PVC pipe, downspouts and gutters – that grows 160 plants and is controlled from a cell phone.   The public is invited. 

Compostable Matter

By Jim Meehan

           

Rushing the Season

Weeks before it comes, I look for spring in my garden

Pungency gives away the chives’ presence

Leading the way through

last year’s flaccid stems

to new, more eager sprouts

Renewed, I gently rake away debris

from stubby sedum’s

darkness defying

emerald coiled buds.

I’d like to believe it’s my wishing that makes it so.

The Roses Were in Bloom in the Public Garden in June.

(Contributed by Richard Prentice who received it from former club member Ben Nichols.  It was written by David L. Ryan and originally appeared in the Boston Globe.)
            
The Deptford Pinks are blooming in the lawn, their five jagged petals a clue that they are in the carnation family. Their clusters of sword-like leaves look a lot like crabgrass unless you notice the tiny buds. The oregano has bolted in the heat, making the leaves bitter but sending up spikes of foamy white flowers. In another, more formal garden, these plants would be considered weedy or invasive, fit for the compost heap. But in my blowsy summer yard, weeds are just a social construct. The genetic differences between the wildflower pinks and the cultivated Dianthus for sale at the garden center are vanishingly small; only our attitudes create a divide.                                                              

This is one of the many insights I’ve received this year from the garden, my favorite spot for revelation. The slow, repetitive movements of snipping, digging, and mulching give rise to such reflection, as the mind settles down and makes way for new ideas. By mid-summer I have assembled a catalog of observations. Here are a few more:     

Every living thing can be redeemed. Our bumper crop of bunnies this May nibbled the Echinacea down to a nub, and I hacked the lavender back by two-thirds, removing chunks of dead, woody stems that were still redolent with a dreamy scent. I thought both plants were goners, but the Echinacea fought back and even spread to new areas, and the lavender is better than ever, the long graceful spikes yearning toward the sun. A few yellow Rudbekia or bright pink Cosmos can be counted on to self-seed where no one intended them to bloom, making the most carefully diagrammed plot look like clown’s pants. A garden is unpredictable, unruly; we cannot control it. That is precisely its charm.                                                                                                                                     
Not even perennials are permanent. It’s a bad year for mophead hydrangeas, a classic New England shrub, thanks to our polar vortex last winter. The thyme and tarragon I can usually gentle over with a judicious application of mulch also fell victim to the hard winter. And where are the bee balms of yesteryear? On the other hand, it’s been a great year for lilacs, irises, and the aforementioned bunnies. Years with a heavy snow cover are bad for hawks but good for mice. Which means it should be a good year for cats.                                                                                                                                    
Thinking about such seasonal vagaries, I am reminded of the familiar fable about the farmer whose prize horse runs away. “This is terrible!” says his son. The father shrugs. “We’ll see,” he replies. Some weeks later the horse comes back, bringing with it two beautiful wild horses. “This is wonderful!” says the son. “We’ll see,” says the father. The son rides one of the beautiful wild horses, falls off, and badly breaks his leg. “This is horrible!” wails the son. “We’ll see,” says the father. The next day the king’s army arrives, recruiting every able-bodied young man for war. The injured son is spared.                 

We’ll see. That’s the only attitude to take when it comes to the cycles of the natural world. When the hydrangea doesn’t bloom, we tend to take it personally. But it isn’t about us.                                                                                                                                 

Nature isn’t good or bad. The hawk doesn’t kill the mouse out of malice — though I’m not so sure about the cat.                                                                                            

Sometimes all this garden wisdom seems contradictory. The caprice of weather — the droughts, blights, flash floods, and early frosts — reminds us that we can only have the present moment. You have to cherish every achy, sweaty morning on your knees in the dirt. And yet the very act of planting a perennial garden is a statement of hope in the future — the belief that we will be around next summer to smell the peppery garden phlox, the mind alive with possibility.                                                                            
How do these truths reconcile? You can only tend to your plants today, but if you do it well, the present will take care of the future. This fall’s application of lime or aluminum sulfate is next year’s pink or blue hydrangea. Well, maybe. 

Growing things teaches us that conditions are always changing. Like a moving river or a perfect August day, we are never in the same garden twice.

Want To Stop Killing Your Plants?

Parrot's New Tools Take The Gardening Out Of Gardening

You might have a green thumb after all

By Lindsey Kratochwill - popsci.com (Popular Sciene)

          

It may look like a normal flower pot, but it's got sensors inside

             

As I've learned, raising a plant isn't as easy as it looks. I water too much or too little and what was plush green foliage when I brought it home turns to a sad withered crisp. Pot, which Parrot announced at CES this year, might make it possible for me to actually grow the indoor garden of my dreams. This is part of the company's next generation of connected gardening products. A few years ago, Parrot released Flower Power, which would alert you when it was time to water your plants, give it a little fertilizer, or show it some extra sun.

             

Pot has similar sensors. Every 15 minutes, Pot records the data that its sensors detect: soil moisture, fertilizer levels, ambient temperature, and light. If you're conscientious enough, you can take a look at that data, which is sent to your smart device via Bluetooth Smart. The real kicker, though, is that Pot can take care of the watering too. No need for your plant-killing hands to touch a watering can.

             

A two-liter reserve holds water, and four spigots dispense the sweet nectar to your plants. But wait, if you're terrible at watering plants, wouldn't that mean you're terrible at remembering to fill up Pot when it gets low? Fear not, Parrot has thought of this too. When the water gets below a certain level, Pot will go into conservation mode, with the aim of keeping you plant alive for as long as possible. Pot is slated for release some time this year.

Garden Q&A

By Stephen Or- NY Times

Alternatives to the Usual

            

 Q. I want to plant a small flowering tree in a sunny spot in my garden this spring. There are already dogwoods, cherries, plums and redbuds in my neighborhood. Can you suggest a few spring-blooming alternatives?

             

A. Even if you are in the mood for something unusual, you don’t have to resort to the exotic. There are several underused American natives that fit your request. They may not match the vividness of familiar Asian species in full bloom, like the frilly double-flowered Kanzan cherry, but their quiet beauty will draw many admirers. And most will grow no more than 30 feet high, the textbook definition of a small garden tree.

             

One of the most graceful, Carolina silverbell (Halesia tetraptera), has dangling hoop skirts of pure white flowers followed by lobed fruit. In “Dirr’s Hardy Trees and Shrubs: An Illustrated Encyclopedia,” Michael Dirr, a woody-plant expert, praises its merits: “The flowers, in a subtle, not boisterous way, are among the most beautiful of all flowering trees.”

             

Other Halesia varieties that may do the trick include Rosea, a pink form, and Variegata, which sports white flowers and variegated leaves. A shorter variety, Wedding Bells (above), has large white flowers and reaches 20 feet.

             

Another good candidate is the serviceberry (Amelanchier), a white-flowered shrublike tree with several useful varieties. They include the elegant Allegheny serviceberry, which blossoms into a cloud of white and looks at home in either a woodland or a small garden. According to folklore, the serviceberry got its name from 19th-century settlers heading West who knew that when the tree was in bloom, the ground had thawed, so it was time to dig graves and bury those who had died during the winter.

            

 For a dramatic statement in the garden, the fringe tree (Chionanthus virginicus) is sculptural even when not in bloom, thanks to its graceful, often-multiple trunks. In the later part of the season, in May and June, it produces a spectacle, covering its twisting branches with a fragrant threadlike bunting of delicate white flowers.

             

The Eastern redbud (Cercis canadensis) may not interest you because of its ubiquity, but consider its white variety, Alba, or Forest Pansy, a darling of plant aficionados several years ago, which has pink blossoms and dark purple leaves. A new, harder-to-find variety, Hearts of Gold, has vivid yellow foliage that leafs out after the decline of its hot pink flowers.

             

If you must have something exotic, though, consider two non-native trees: the Japanese snowbell and the yellowhorn from China. The snowbell (Styrax japonicus) resembles a Halesia and, like other light-colored flowering plants, looks best against a backdrop like a solid wall or a dark hedge. The yellowhorn (Xanthoceras sorbifolium) has shiny dissected leaves and scented white crepelike flowers with yellow and red centers. It is relatively rare but worth the trouble to find.

Winter Blooming Mystery

             

Q. Recently I was surprised to see a leafless shrub in full bloom with pink flowers that had a strong fragrance. What could it be?

             

A. What you saw — and smelled — was almost certainly the Chinese import Viburnum farreri. During warm spells between December and February, it sporadically sends out pink-tinged waxy blossoms that emit a heavy, almost tropical scent.

            

 If you are a keen-eyed plant lover, there are quite a few other little winter-blooming things out there to notice, even now. As Vita Sackville-West wrote in a 1953 newspaper column: “The courage of some small and apparently fragile flowers never ceases to amaze me. Here are we humans, red-nosed and blue-cheeked in the frost and the snow, looking dreadfully plain; but there are the little flowers coming up, as brave and gay as can be.”

             

Not only do these fragile flowers bloom in the harshest time, but many also send out incredible fragrances as a way of luring pollinators. Scott Canning, the horticulture director at Wave Hill in the Bronx, said that the winter bloomers, many of which are from China, were flowering now “to avoid competing with plants that come out later during the peak blooming season.”

             

Mr. Canning has several favorites, including the plant you described, that sprout fragrant flowers in winter. Most of them are moderate size and easy to grow in a small garden. (Plant them near a walkway or entrance where you’re more able to appreciate them.) They include Edgeworthia chrysantha, which has dangling mops of large butter-yellow flower clusters and a spicy gardenia-like scent that can be appreciated from afar.

             

Wintersweet (Chimonanthus praecox) bows its heads of translucent pale yellow and maroon petals shyly, as if waiting to greet a visitor. A few cut branches indoors will make the whole house fragrant.

             

Slow-growing sweetbox (Sarcococca humilis) is an evergreen ground cover with white flowers so puny that they would go unnoticed if not for the sharp aroma of cinnamon and cloves.

             

Winter honeysuckle (Lonicera fragrantissima) is more leggy shrub than vine and needs pruning, but it rewards with a fruitlike scent.

             

Then there’s the classic Chinese witch hazel (Hamamelis mollis, above), not to be confused with the equally fetching winter hazel (Corylopsis). Sackville-West’s description, from a 1956 column: “Its flowers are extraordinarily frost-resistant. On winter mornings you can see the crinkled gold coming through the rime like sugared crystallized fruits.”

             

Though the days have been getting longer since Dec. 21, these ethereal flowering plants offer an even louder announcement of the distant arrival of spring.

             

By midsummer, they will be lost in the crowd of green-leaved shrubs, but for now ... hurrah!

Mother Nature’s Weather Forecasters

By Mindy McIntosh-Shetter – urbangardencasual.com

             

I have always looked toward nature as my predictor of the weather.

             

Learning the weather patterns of ones local area is very beneficial to gardeners.

            

 It can help the gardener decide when to put the cold or cool season crops in and can provide some guidance as to fall and winter crops.

             

The key to this technique is knowing what to look for, when to look for it, and understanding what you see.

             

WOOLY WORM

             

Wooly worms are famous as bad winter predictors. It is believed that if the caterpillar is solid black, the whole winter will be abnormally bad. On the other end of the spectrum, it is believed that if the caterpillar is brown or light brown this is an indication of a mild winter. Wooly worms have 13 sections and each section represents one week of the winter season. If the wooly worm is in bands of black and brown, this is an indication of a winter that is going to have a lot of changes.

             

SQUIRRELS

             

In the fall, squirrels are busy collecting food for the winter. Some believe that the winter can be predicted by how actively the squirrels collect food. If they seem to be collecting like crazy, then it is believed that they are preparing for a bad winter. If they do not seem to be too worried about storing food, then the winter will be mild.

             

While there are some gardeners that live by this, I do not really follow this sign. It has been proven that the reason squirrel scamper to collect food is not because they are predicting a bad winter but instead they forget where they bury their food. The more food they bury in different places the better their chances are of finding the food.

             

PLANTS

            

 Some plants have been used as weather predictors. Any tree or shrub that produces berries or nuts in the fall is viewed as a winter predictor. The principle behind this is that these plants will produce a lot of berries or nuts that contain seeds. If it is going to be a bad winter, the plant is ensuring its species survival by producing a lot of possible offspring. If the winter is going to be mild, it is believed that the plant will not put that much energy into producing future offspring.

            

 PERSIMMON SEEDS

             

Persimmon seeds have been used for years as a winter predictor. It is believed that the shape of the inside of the seed can determine the type of winter. If the inside of the seed is shaped like a knife, it is going to be a bitterly, cold winter. If the inside of the seed is shape like a spoon, it is going to be a winter with a lot of snow. If a fork shape appears on the inside, it is going to be a mild winter.

             

LADYBUGS

             

The common red-shelled ladybug, believe it on no, is 100 percent accurate in its winter weather prediction. It is not understood how this simple insect does it but its ability to be accurate is a matter of life and death.

             

The simplest way to understand what the ladybug is telling you is looking where they are going to in the fall. If you find them in the garden soil while you are doing your last garden cleanup, then it is going to be a mild winter. The soil temperature will be sufficient enough to carry them through the winter. If, on the other hand, you find them in your home, attic, shed or any other warm, sheltered area, then it is going to be a bad winter. The additional covering is crucial to their survival when the winds of a severe winter blow.

             

While I have used some of these techniques, the ladybug approach is a new one to me but I am going to try it. While I was out in the garden doing some cleanup I disturbed some ladybugs that had made home in the soil. This was a welcome site and with this information I began planting again in my garden space instead of closing it down for its winter slumber. Only time will tell if my ladybugs are accurate. If they are, I will enjoy some extra time in my garden. If they are not, the only thing I have lost is a little seed.

             

So until we blog again, open Mother Nature’s book of knowledge and comprehend the messages she is sending us. Some may be old wise tales while others may contain scientific fact. But planning our gardens by Mother Nature’s cycles makes us all better caretakers of the Earth and all that it abounds.

“Kiss Your Ash Good Bye”

by Thomas Christopher – gardenrant.com

     

That’s what the Massachusetts state forester told me – the emerald ash borer is on the loose in southern Berkshire County where my wife and I have our 130-acre woodlot and within the next couple of years this pest is expected to kill virtually all the native ashes, or roughly 5% of the forest trees, in this region. In fact, this mortality is expected to become general throughout Connecticut, too, and eventually throughout southern New England and beyond. And to my mind, it is a good argument for the creation of GMO plants.

             

This loss of trees to an introduced Asian pest is even more grievous in context. My region lost all its American chestnut trees (as much as 1/4th of the hardwood trees) to the ravages of an introduced Asian virus in the early part of the 20th century. More recently, it lost most of its hemlocks (an estimated 6% of the forest trees) to an introduced Asian insect pest. If the Asian Longhorn Beetle ever escapes from its limited urban outbreaks into the forest in general, 73% of the forest trees in southern New England would be at risk.

             

Asian ashes, chestnuts, and other trees which evolved alongside the Asian pests have a natural resistance. American scientists have tried to interbreed these Asian trees with their American relatives to transfer the resistance but given the long time it takes a tree to grow from seed to sexual maturity, progress has been painfully slow.  A 35-year effort by the American Chestnut Foundation to breed a resistant American chestnut, for example, has only begun to produce significant results in the last few years.

             

Genetic engineering offers a far more efficient way to insert genes for pest resistance into the DNA of American trees. This has already been accomplished with American chestnut trees and Dr. Paula M Pijut, a research plant physiologist with the U.S. Forest Service, has been working on something similar for several species of North American ash trees in her laboratory at Purdue University. Both of these projects have been accomplished in a time scale of years rather than decades. An additional advantage of genetic engineering is that it is possible to produce resistant trees that differ from their American ancestors by only a handful of genes rather than the compromise Asian-American hybrids produced by conventional breeding techniques.

             

I’m no fan of GMO food, but GMO trees seem to me a far better alternative than a biologically impoverished forest.

Back to the Future with Sustainable Lawns

By Thomas Christopher – gardenrant.com

             

What is cutting edge in the field of sustainable lawns? Much of it is forgotten lore from the late 19th/early 20th century, I have been discovering.

             

I came upon this revelation while preparing for the talk I am going to give this month at a conference organized by Larry Weaner that is to be hosted in Philadelphia by the Morris Arboretum and in New London, CT by Connecticut College.

            

 The basis of my talk will be my own experiences with alternatives to Kentucky bluegrass and the two or three other turf grasses that are the default choices for lawns today. My thesis is that if you broaden your sights and find a grass species that is naturally adapted to the soil and location, you shouldn’t have to cater to it with constant chemical applications and endless irrigation. Grassland, after all, is one of the toughest types of plant communities, commonly flourishing where conditions are too difficult to permit the growth of woody plants.

            

 This, I believed was an original thought, until I spent a couple of days reading late-19th-century gardening books at the New York Botanical Garden library. Published before the advent of the modern chemical industry, these presented a much more sensible and relaxed view of lawn care.

            

 For example, Lawns & Gardens by N. Jonsson-Rosé (G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1897) included a list of two dozen wildflowers you can include with the grass when you sow a new lawn. Jonsson-Rosé might not have recognized the term “biological diversity” but his lawns were certainly no monocultures and definitely pollinator-friendly.

            

And in Lawns and How to Make Them by Leonard Barron (Doubleday, Page & Co. 1914) I found recommendations for 13 different grass species, each one accompanied by a description of the type of soil and conditions that suited it best. Included in this list are several species such as sheep fescue that I have been using to create self-sufficient, low-input lawns. There is even one species in Barron’s list, sweet vernal grass (Anthoxanthum odoratum) that was mixed with other grasses simply to give the lawn a sweet odor when it was cut. That might make you almost look forward to mowing.

             

My favorite tip from these books: control dandelions by inviting Italian immigrants in to harvest the greens every spring.

Horti-Culture Corner

From H.L. Mencken

"An idealist is one who, on noticing that a rose smells better than a cabbage, concludes that it (the rose) will also make better soup."

You Might be a Redneck Gardener If:

You mow your lawn and find a wheelbarrow.

A half moon reminds you of your fat husband pulling weeds.

You think a chain saw is a musical instrument.

You move your refrigerator and the grass underneath it is yellow.

Kudzu covers your arbor.

You don’t water your front yard rather than mow it.

You know how many bags of fertilizer your car can hold.

You’ve ever cleaned your house with a leaf blower.

You empty the trash when you have enough to fill up the pickup.

You can amuse yourself for more that an hour with a hose.

You’ve been cited for reckless driving on a riding lawn mower.

You move your weed-eater to take a bath.

- Culled and Revised by Mike Garofalo