My Pleiospilos nelii, aka Split Rock plant, is watching me.
My Pleiospilos nelii, aka Split Rock plant, is watching me.
Speaking of plants some consider to be weeds, Nasturtium (which is actually Tropaeolum*) is a South American native that you can find growing everywhere in San Francisco. I’ve seen Nasturtium vines engulf whole bushes, spread over an entire park, and possibly abduct children. I pulled this guy out of a pot yesterday, where he sprung up almost overnight. You can still see the seed that started it all.
That’s the neighbor’s dog, Brutus, making a cameo in the background.
So Nasturtiums are nasty because they can be quite aggressive. But they’re also nice! Their leaves can get as large as dinner plates. In a dense thicket, they look kind of like lily pads in midair. The whole plant is edible, too. Their flowers have a crunchy pepper quality that makes them great salad toppers.
Personally, I love Nasturtium. It’s not their fault they thrive in their new environment. I came from another place, too. So I took the one in the photo above and planted him in his own pot. Everybody needs a place to call home.
* The plants I’ve always called “Nasturtiums” are actually the genus Tropaeolum. There is a genus called Nasturtium, but it doesn’t include them. So Nasturtiums aren’t Nasturtiums. See, this is why nobody knows plant names.
It’s always exciting when an orchid flowers for the first time. When I got this little guy at the Pacific Orchid Expo, he was already mounted on a little bit of wood, but he wasn’t yet blooming, so this is the first time I’ve gotten to see his flowers. They’re adorably tiny.
This post is going to have so many important disclaimers, I decided to put them first.
Disclaimer 1: Technically, everything in a state/city-owned park is owned by the state/city, and removing anything is either against the rules or outright illegal, unless you have permission, which I got from a gardener who told me I’d be doing him a favor removing the Arum since he considers it a weed (see disclaimer 2).
Disclaimer 2: The Arum genus is invasive in some places. Some gardeners curse the plant as a horrible pest. I’m not one of them.
Disclaimer 3: Arum, like most Aroids, are poisonous and contain calcium oxalate, which can irritate the skin, though I’ve never had a problem handling them.
Got all that? Okay, then.
I’ve been keeping an eye on a few clumps of Arum (probably italicum) in Buena Vista Park all year. I love their arrowhead leaves with silver lines, and their spathe/spadix flowers. I noticed them blooming way back in March. They’re a beautiful bit of the tropics here in California.
If their flowers are fertilized by flies and ground-crawling bugs, they form berries. They start out green, then turn yellow, and then finally red when they’re ripe. This is a signal for birds to come eat them, and in turn “distribute” (aka poop) the seeds elsewhere.
Buena Vista Park is where I walk my dogs, so it was easy for me to keep an eye on them. I first noticed the green berries in April, and they started turning red in late July. Four months is a long time to survive in a dog park.
When I finally saw red berries, I harvested some (see disclaimers!) and took them home to plant. Preparing Arum berries is like other Aroids, including Alocasia and Pinellia. Each berry contains a seed or two, which you have to pop out and wash. Aroid seeds aren’t viable for long, and they die once they dry out, so the quicker the better.
Once you pop the seeds out and wash them, you can plant them like any other seed. I put mine in a few pots, in normal houseplant soil, buried a quarter inch or so. If they sprout, I’ll plant them somewhere they’ll be appreciated, like my back yard, where the Buena Vista Park gardeners can’t find them.
I grew carrots for the first time this year and wasn’t sure how they’d do. So, I have to admit, I sewed the seed into the garden bed a little thick, and I never bothered to thin them out. As a result, the carrots aren’t exactly pretty. Still, they’re tasty. And this pair came out looking especially fond of each other.
I visited Thailand in April with a group of garden writers. The trip was sponsored by the Tourism Authority, but as they say on NPR, the opinions expressed are those of the author, not the underwriter.
Our first stop in Chiang Mai was Bai Orchids, where we got a demonstration of orchid propigation by an elderly master gardener. He was a little difficult to understand, but his passion for the plants read loud and clear. I have him to thank for getting me started on bottle orchids as well as trying to pollenate my own.
I wandered the rows and rows of orchids I could never grow outdoors at home in San Francisco. There were Vandas that were taller than me. I was particularly captivated by the dense forest of their roots.
But nothing in Thailand is ever just one thing. So in addition to being an amazing orchid nursery, Bai is also a butterfly farm. An enclosed area next to the orchids was home to thousands of butterflies, dragonflies, and moths. In one spot, I saw the largest moth I’d ever seen – about the size of my hand, fingers outstretched. As I was photographing him, I noticed that he was not alone. Behind him was his, um, good friend, with whom he was intimately connected.
Orchid sex and moth sex, all in one place? Thailand is awesome.
A couple weeks ago I said, I Think I Impregnated My Phalaenopsis. Check it out today.
That’s an affirmative. Grow, pod, grow!
We read the botanical web so you don’t have to. In this edition: trash, Alcatraz, crime, and weed.
When some friends of mine asked me what was wrong with one of their houseplants, I said to bring it by and I’d take a look. I had no idea they’d be showing up in a truck. They unloaded a tree that’s taller than me. As you can see, it’s in a bad way.
When I grabbed the plant to move it, the trunk was soft. Soft is bad. You can also see that some of the upper stems have just bent right over. The plant’s owners told me they’d moved it into a sunnier spot a while back. There may have been some overwatering, and then some underwatering. I tried to break the news gently.
My friends, this tree is dead. Dead as a doorknob. Dead as disco. Really, really dead.
But there’s hope! Because as my Dracaena fragrans proved, Dracaena can be rooted from cane cuttings. And some of this patient’s tips were still green inside.
In the bottom, left photo, you can see the obvious difference between a dead cane and a live one.
After a little exploratory surgery, I was able to take six mostly healthy-looking cuttings. My previous attempts to root Dracaena cuttings in water have been pretty successful, so I placed them all in water. I’ll be able to see if roots develop.
We may have lost the patient, but if the cuttings root, the plant will live on.
A timelapse video of three weeks of growth in this year’s vegetable garden. The photos were taken from June 13 to July 2 … and then the batteries died. When things disappear it’s because they were dinner. If you pay close attention, you can see little bits of spinach disappear as caterpillars have dinner, too.