Garden designers are about vision. They transform worn out frameworks of existing gardens, empty spaces, and natural areas into poetic visions. Where most of us will muster up all of our creative juices only to create something that still looks like we threw a bunch of plants into the ground, the seasoned designer makes the garden seem simultaneously magical and effortless, as if their creation was always meant to occupy the space. On January 31, the well-known British garden designer Tom Stuart-Smith kicked off the 13th Annual Winter Lecture Series at the NYBG, beginning with a lecture on “The Modern Garden: Finding a Language.”
In an eclectic discussion that covered sources of inspiration ranging from cellular biology and psychology to Schumann and Wagner, Stuart-Smith invited us into the inner workings of his mind, giving us a very personal account of the impetus for his designs.
Orchids are typically classified as cool, intermediate, or warm growers; the designation matches the temperatures that they are accustomed to in their native habitat. Cattleyas, for their part, are intermediate to warm growers. The warm growers tend to be species that grow at low altitudes, while intermediate growers are found growing in higher altitudes. For example, the Cattleya labiata that we were discussing a few weeks ago is native to the mountain ranges in the northeastern provinces of Brazil, and is found growing at elevations above 1600 feet (500 meters).
Often homeowners will look at these exotics blooms and think that they need to be pampered and require intense tropical heat. The reality is that cattleyas will do well growing in daytime temperatures ranging from 65-80° F, preferring temperatures on the cooler side of this spectrum (low 70s). Cattleyas should experience a temperature drop of 10 to 15 degrees overnight, placing nighttime temperatures in the mid to low sixties. I wouldn’t worry too much about being exact, however; modern hybrids have so many parental lineages that they generally land somewhere in the normal household temperature range. Just remember that this tropical beauty is environmentally friendly and will appreciate a home on the cooler side.
Last week we talked about the discovery of Cattleya labiata in the Brazilian forests in 1817, and the stir that it caused when it flowered the following year at William Cattley’s home in Barnet, England. Cattleyas are the archetypal orchid flowers; they are the ones you see in a corsage or plastered on the cover of magazines–divas suitable for any artistic photo shoot. Cattleyas ooze exoticism, sensuality, and many of them emit a fabulous perfume to add to their enticing aura.
There are somewhere in the range of 60 species of cattleya that are native to Central and South America. The number of hybrids and intergeneric hybrids (crosses with more than one genus) are too many to count.
Cattleyas fall into two main groups: unifoliates (single leaf) and bifoliates (double leaf). In the unifoliate group, the orchid has one leaf per pseudobulb (the swollen stem). These orchids generally grow to be between 12 and 18 inches tall, and produce large, five- to seven-inch flowers. Unifoliate species can be found growing in Panama, Columbia, Venezuela, Peru, and Brazil.
Sonia Uyterhoeven is the NYBG‘s Gardener for Public Education.
In December, I recounted the story of the renowned 19th century botanist Asa Gray’s quest for Oconee bells (Shortia galacifolia). The New Year brings new stories; this one takes us on a journey from the northeastern region of Brazil to English hothouses and Scottish botanic gardens. It is the tale of one of the early discoveries of the corsage orchid: Cattleya labiata.
In 1816, a naturalist named William Swainson traveled into the jungles of northern Brazil in search of exotic ferns, mosses, and tropical plants to send back to collectors and botanical gardens in the United Kingdom. One of his shipments reached a man named William Cattley. A collector and avid horticulturist, Cattley lived on the outskirts of London in Barnet, England, where he grew topical plants–including orchids–in his hothouse.
Many stories from the past are surrounded by a certain mythology, and this one is no exception. The romantic version of this tale is that Cattley received a specimen of the orchid used as packing material to protect a shipment of ferns. The keen horticulturist was wise to see that he had something special in hand, and rescued the orchid from the packing material.
Last week I introduced you to a few new dwarf blueberry and raspberry cultivars that are on the market this year: blueberry Vaccinium corymbosum ‘Jelly Bean’, blueberry Vaccinium corymbosum ‘Peach Sorbet’, and raspberry Rubus idaeus ‘Raspberry Shortcake’. This week I would like to tell you more about Dave Brazelton, the hybridizer behind these plants, and share a few pointers for growing dwarf berries of your own.
During a summer spent working on his cousin’s blueberry farm in New Hampshire, Dave fell in love with the business. He excelled in the field and was the first overzealous employee to hand-harvest more than 1,000 pounds of berries in one day. Years later, when he was married and working as a veterinary technician, Dave and his wife Barbara decided to realize their dreams and buy a blueberry farm and nursery. They found a 25-acre blueberry farm in Lowell, Oregon, that they purchased in 1978.
Since then, the farm has grown from a retail operation and a landscaping business to a wholesale nursery, with one of the top blueberry breeding programs in the industry.
Most of us like our blueberries served in a bowl. Of course, very few of us imagine growing them in a bowl, but that is precisely what modern hybridizers are allowing us to do. I exaggerate when I say bowl–I hope you understand that. But growing blueberries in a container–and a reasonably sized container, at that–is now a reality.
I have been perusing information from growers on the new introductions for 2013 and have found some truly interesting edibles. Fall Creek Farm & Nurseries of Oregon have a new series coming out this year called the BrazelBerries™ collection. The collection consists of two dwarf blueberries and one thornless raspberry which are small enough to comfortably tuck into a container for your patio garden.
Oconee bells (Shortia galacifolia) is a rare and wonderful relative of the wandflower (Galax urceolata). Its foliage is a diminutive version of the wandflower’s, with glossy round leaves showing wavy margins and striking venation. These glistening leaves and the striking patterns within them remind me of a shiny crocodile handbag. I suppose I should say faux crocodile handbag to be politically correct. That, and the pattern of the veins is different.
However, the flower is otherwise completely different from the wandflower. Shortia has pinkish white, bell-shaped flowers with jagged edges that appear in early spring. This small woodland groundcover (growing 4 to 8 inches tall) is a must for any woodland aficionado. I must warn you that it is not the easiest woodland plant to grow, but once established, it will do fine in your garden.
Oconee bells are from Oconee County and its surrounding areas in South and North Carolina. The region is full of lakes, rivers, deeply wooded forests and hilly terrain. The name Oconee is a derivation of the Cherokee word Ae-quo-nee, which means “land beside water.”
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.
I spend a lot of my time working with John Egenes in the Native Plant Garden. John is the gardener in charge of the area and his discerning eye doesn’t miss an inch of the vast new landscape.
I recently discovered that one of his passions is native trees. One day, during the height of fall foliage, he rattled off some of his favorite trees while pointing out the merits of both foliage and form. One of them–the pignut hickory (Carya glabra)–is situated just outside the Rock Garden, close to the rear service entrance.
The pignut hickory is a close relative to the famous pecan tree (Carya illinoinensis), responsible for your holiday pecan pie. But unlike the pecan, the nuts that the pignut provides are not so palatable. In fact, the name “pignut” is derived from the fact that the nuts are only suitable for swine. In nature, these are a valuable food source for many woodland creatures such as black bears, raccoons, squirrels, blue jays, foxes, rodents, and deer.
I read somewhere that a hummingbird’s wings beat between 70 and 80 times a second, and can accelerate up to 200 beats per second during courtship. They can fly at an average speed of 25 to 30 miles per hour, but can dive at 60 miles per hour. With all this hyperactivity, these birds need sugary nectar to support their high-energy bursts.
Fortunately for them, some flower nectar has about two times as much sugar as the average soft drink. The blooms these birds favor tend to be bright red, pink, and orange–flowers in the shape of long tubes that are adapted to the hummingbird’s narrow bill. However, like other avian species they have a poor sense of smell, so the colorful flowers they pollinate do not have strong fragrances.
