The wetland area of the new Native Plant Garden is home to many kinds of animals, but none more magnificent than the dragonflies that hover and buzz over the water, performing amazing airborne feats in search of food. Almost as soon as the water feature was filled during construction, the dragonflies moved in.
The latest scientific evidence suggests that their aerial performances are not just lovely to look at—they’re highly choreographed to target prey. In fact, a recent New York Times report notes that dragonflies are much better hunters than African lions or sharks. Dragonflies “manage to snatch their targets in midair more than 95% of the time,” often eating “on the spur without bothering to alight.” By comparison, the success rate for lions is just 25%, and for sharks just 35%.
Dragonflies are not new residents to the Garden, either. We have long had a healthy population of these amazing insects, and we’re quite happy to have them here, too. Dragonflies may be an indicator of a healthy ecosystem. While adult dragonflies are terrestrial insects, immature dragonflies, also known as nymphs, are aquatic and can be sensitive to pollutants in the water.
Another reason we like having dragonflies around? Guess what they eat … mosquitoes!
It’s almost “go” time for the coming spring ephemerals, and the Native Plant Garden is a canvas ready for painting, so to speak. (The wait is a good kind of anxiety. Trust me.)
Without aroma, Dutchman’s breeches flowers use contrasting yellow and white colors to attract pollinators, namely early-flying queen bumblebees.
In the early spring wildflower parade, Dutchman’s breeches (Dicentra cucullaria) follow closely on the heels of hepatica, blooming by mid-April. Dutchman’s breeches are one of the true spring ephemerals, plants that complete their entire above-ground life cycle within a period of only a few weeks and then disappear until the following spring. Of course, the underground portions live on, storing the carbohydrates manufactured by the leaves during the brief period before the trees have leafed out and shaded the forest floor. But spring ephemerals are not roadside plants.
To see most of our native ephemerals requires a pleasant walk in the woods. Ephemerals are plants that have evolved to live in the primeval conditions of Eastern North America—a land once covered by forest. They must take advantage of the short period of year when temperatures are warm enough and sunlight sufficient enough on the forest floor for the plant to accomplish three tasks: food production, reproduction, and storage of carbohydrates for the subsequent year’s growth.
Dense hairs serve to protect the delicate flower from cold temperatures and drying winds.
Hepatica is the first “true” wildflower (that is, other than the rather unusual-flowered skunk cabbage) to bloom in the tri-state region. Its lovely flowers are a cheerful indicator that spring has really begun, but they can be surprisingly difficult to spot among the dull brown leaf litter. The flowers range in shades of pink, lavender, purple, and white, but they are small and low growing—plus they only open on sunny days. This strategy serves to conserve the flower’s pollen for days when its pollinators (usually small native bees) are likely to be flying.
It may be easier to find the distinctive leaves of hepatica; they are three-lobed, leathery, and often a deep burgundy color at this time of year. Hepatica retains its leaves for a full year, allowing the plant to photosynthesize on mild winter days and thus get a jump-start on the season. The appearance of the leaves is what has given this plant its somewhat unattractive common names, hepatica and liverleaf, both references to the imagined similarity of the leaves to a human liver. This fancied resemblance almost led to the plant’s demise during the 19th century.
The sensuous curves of skunk cabbage inflorescences brighten a swamp in early spring.
For those thirsting for some sign of rebirth after a long, cold winter, you need go no further than the closest swamp. Skunk cabbage (Symplocarpus foetidus) has been up and in flower for over a month now. In fact, skunk cabbage may be found in flower as early as mid-February in this area. While many people may not consider skunk cabbage to be a ”true” spring wildflower, that is, one that is sweet, delicate, and pastel-colored, it is, indeed, one of our native wildflowers, and a plant deserving of our attention and admiration. The floral parts have a certain sculptural beauty, and the deep maroon color is striking in the otherwise bleak landscape.
After months of dedicated effort, the NYBG‘s Native Plant Garden is scheduled for a grand reopening in May of 2013. Until then, we’ll occasionally touch on the plants, landscapes, and landmark features that have gone into this classic space. Visit the official page for more information.
With the Native Plant Garden opening in May, it seemed only right to highlight some of the plants and trees that have gone into its reimagining. I kicked things off a while back with the Spiranthes orchids growing here and there about the space. This time around, I thought I’d go in a different direction–and highlight the only non-natives to be found in the Native Plant Garden. Stately and full with spiraled needles, the decades-old Torreya trees near the center of the garden are the only explicit outsiders to have kept their citizenship during the landscape’s sweeping revision. But before you throw your arms up in a huff of indignation, hear me out!
When Oehme von Sweden first envisioned the new Native Plant Garden’s layout, the Torreyas–Japanese natives, originally–were some of the more notable residents popping up in discussions. They stood three abreast, dense and squat, their thick evergreen needles shadowing what the designers pegged as the center of the new landscape. The broad path of the water feature would brush right past them on its way through the middle of the garden, so it’s not as though these conifers were inconspicuous. And that left a question: what would people think, seeing foreign growth in a native sanctuary?
Ladies’ tresses orchids aren’t the most flamboyant flowers in the redesigned Native Plant Garden. Neither are they the most exotic orchids you’ll ever come upon. But seeing them sprout up from the wetland area, I can’t help but find these local perennials engaging. Few people realize how widespread the world’s orchid population really is, and far from being the exclusive charge of southern climes and tropical islands, members of the Orchidaceae family range across much of the United States and into Canada. Naturally, that includes New York.
But make no mistake: these aren’t the neon-painted Phalaenopsis orchids you see lining the shelves at your local florist, though their occasional fragrance makes up for such docile color. They’re small and narrow in profile, rising into a tall, green “spike” around which spirals a staircase of drowsy white flowers. They look a bit like stressed snowdrops, wound into coils that grow in stiff stands. Thriving in a wide range of habitats–fields, damp meadows, moist thickets and grassy swamps among them–that clean simplicity might explain the allure of this New York City orchid.
I have been spending the past few weeks in the Native Plant Garden, preparing the 2.5-acre site for winter. Most of my time has been spent cutting back foliage, raking leaves for shredding and returning to the garden as mulch, and tying together loose ends by updating the inventory of the collection. While much of the garden is going to bed, there are a few horticultural stars that are still out for the winter, and they look sublime at this time of year.
Three winter woodland wonders that caught my eye the other day were the wandflower (Galax urceolata), it close relative the rare Oconee bells (Shortia galacifolia) and the luscious-looking wintergreen (Gaultheria procumbens). All three are evergreen ground covers that do well in woodland shade but probably look their best in part-shade, where the canopy opens up to let in streams of light.
The wandflower (Galax urceolata) has glossy, rounded, heart-shaped leaves that look spectacular all year round. Once the cold weather sets in, the foliage starts to turn red. By the holiday season, the coloring is as intense as Rudolph’s red nose. Wandflower or Galax grow 12 to 16 inches tall with the flower spikes extending above the foliage like a narrow white bottle brush in late spring to early summer.
The wetland area of the new Native Plant Garden is home to many kinds of animals, but none more magnificent than the dragonflies that hover and buzz over the water, performing amazing airborne feats in search of food. Almost as soon as the water feature was filled during construction, the dragonflies moved in.
