Once Were Wildflowers

The annual Texas wildflower fever is just beginning around here -- everybody loves wildflowers in March.  It's kind of surprising that they do, to tell the truth.  After all, most wildflowers have a rather weedy appearance close up.  Our very favorite one, the Texas Bluebonnet, has a very short bloom cycle.  As a group, they're fairly unreliable: sometimes we have a banner year, and sometimes, depending on the rain, we get nothing at all.

What interests me is how we got from wildflowers to garden flowers.  I enjoy reading about the dedicated plant breeders who carry on improving our species plants until we can barely recognize them.  Even more interesting?  Reading about how genetic researchers use plant DNA to track human migrations, based on the plants (and pollens and seeds) they carried with them. 

I like to think about those people who long ago were entranced by the subtle beauty of a native wildflower. What it must have been like to live in a world where all flowers were wildflowers!  It seems incredible that we ended up here, in a world in which woodland plants bloom in the full sun, scentless roses flower 12 months long, and our wildflowers have morphed into bedding color.  And a little sad, really, that we only appreciate seasonality, subtlety and brevity in March.  After that?  We move on to evergreen, everblooming, dwarfing sameness.

The Limits of Local

Are you a locavore?  Do you garden organically?  Have you got a vegetable garden?  Are you a grower of native plants?  Perhaps you have vegetarian leanings?  Me, too.  There are lots of us who fit that particular demographic and I got to thinking about what it would mean if everyone did.  After the utopian rush, I started to feel a little nervous.

Where's MY farm?

I live in the coastal plain of Southeast Texas, on the outskirts of Houston, which is now the fourth-largest city in the US.  In 2009, there were 5.9 million people in the Houston metro area.  Houston itself is large -- the metro area encompasses almost 9,000 square miles or 5.76 million acres.  Some of this land is arable, some is not.  The picture above is a circle centered on my neighborhood, with a 100-mile radius.  Part of the problem immediately springs to mind.  A good chunk of the area within the 100-mile radius circle is underwater.  Frankly, speaking as a gardener here, much of the rest of it is pretty dang soggy too.

So.  What does locavorism mean for urban centers?  For cities on the coast?   For cities that abut desert lands, or marshes?  If we were serious about eating locally grown food, what exactly would we eat here, in the Houston area?  Stay tuned...

Native Plants, Native Pests, Cultivated Weeds

I'm always thinking about plants and reading about plants.  Sometimes a theme emerges, and lately it's the division between native and exotic plants, between weeds and cultivated plants. 

Arundo donax.  Exotic invasive in the US.

Among a certain set of gardeners, native plants are widely thought to make better garden choices because they are bred for their own specific environment, and are often food and/or shelter for native wildlife.  Fair enough.  I pretty much agree with this idea, in general.  In theory.  I guess.  Sometimes I'm a little disheartened at my garden's prospects, should I go native.  I live in what was once a vast coastal prairie that has now all but vanished.  I'm not sure it's even possible now to recreate the native environment on a scale as small as my yard.  Plus I think I'm too short to live in a tallgrass prairie.

Pennisetum purpuream.  Exotic.  Invasive in Florida.

But that's not really what's on my mind.  Here's a question: if native plants are best suited to the local environment, and native wildlife has evolved to use them for food and shelter, haven't native pests also evolved to prey on them?  If we broaden our idea of wildlife to include plant pathogens and irritating insects, would we be happy to plant natives for them? 

Elephant Ears (Colocasia).  Invasive exotic.

It's true that sometimes a plant actually thrives in a region far removed from its origins.  Sometimes it thrives so much it becomes a nasty invasive.  I'm thinking of the destruction wrought on the aforementioned coastal prairie by the Chinese Tallow tree, an exotic species gone wild.  Though it is not native to this area, it is certainly well-adapted here.  And we all can think of native plants that are notoriously fussy and hard to grow in their own, original environment.  The Dogwood (Cornus florida) springs to mind.

More on this subject later.  Weeds.  Crops.  Ornamentals.  Politics and policy.  What a tangled mess!

Foliage Friday: Yaupon 'Pride of Houston'

Okay, I'm cheating a little.  I love the plant not so much for its foliage, although it does have neat, trim little green leaves.  But the entire plant just says Christmas to me.

Yaupon 'Pride of Houston'

Yaupon 'Pride of Houston' (or Ilex vomitoria 'Pride of Houston') is an improved cultivar of our beautiful native yaupon holly.  It has a neat, upright growth habit, and many more berries than the unimproved variety.  To me, the trunk seems more white, which makes for a great contrast with the dark green, toothed leaves and the brilliant red berries.

'Pride of Houston,' like its native cousin, tolerates a wide array of light conditions, from full sun to mostly bright shade.  It's not picky either about soil and will grow in sand or clay.  It does tend to sucker, but makes a pretty multi-trunk shrub or small tree if left unpruned. 

I can say from personal experience that mockingbirds and cedar waxwings will love you for planting yaupon hollies!   

Note:  the dwarf yaupons sold as small, compact, evergreen pom-poms won't produce fruit -- they're sterile.

Western Soapberry

Western Soapberry: berries turning golden brown

Now here's a native Texas tree, botanically related to the Golden Rain Tree, that provides good fall color and interesting gray bark.  As natural areas give way to housing and commercial developments, this pretty tree's continued survival in the wild is threatened.  It's a nice smaller-scale tree for urban environments and could be adapted to home and garden use.  If you're looking for a front-yard tree, think about Western Soapberry!

Western Soapberry: berries unripe.

Western Soapberry, or Sapindus saponaria var. drummondii, is a deciduous tree that ranges in height from 10 to 40 feet.  Soapberry flowers are white and usually appear in May or June, but far more striking are the golden berries of October.  These little fruits contain saponin and have been used as a soap substitute for quite some time.  Don't eat them, though -- they are toxic if ingested.

Bipinnate leaves of Western Soapberry

The variety name of Western Soapberry honors Thomas Drummond, a botanist, naturalist and explorer.  Mr. Drummond collected 750 plant species in Texas between 1833 and 1835, with particular focus on the area between Galveston Island and the Edwards Plateau.  If you're a Texan, you know this was a pretty untamed place back then!  Mr. Drummond died in Cuba on a plant collecting trip.  Many of our best-loved plants carry his name.

Here's more information about Texas History and the Western Soapberry.  Enjoy!

Ragweed or Goldenrod?

I can tell fall is coming after all, because I spend my days tanked up on Zyrtec and Sudafed and my nights dreaming Benadryl dreams.  I don't know how the pollen count is where you live, but it's terrible here.  Ragweed is our main culprit, sending the pollen counts skyrocketing for almost a month now.  But the goldenrod's blooming now too, so we're being warned not to blame goldenrod.  It's not the goldenrod's fault, just because it looks like ragweed.

Bad guy or good guy?

I doubted my ability to tell one from the other.  And I couldn't let it go, because I kept driving past fields and fields of bright yellow flowers, which were probably goldenrod (right?), but could be ragweed.  I looked at pictures on the internet.  I looked at my handy weed field guide.  Informative, but still, I was unable to identify those weeds blooming their heads off in our area fields.  I dreaded walking through it, in case it was ragweed, but I had to find out.

Goldenrod?

I think it's goldenrod, all right, Solidago canadensis.  The leaves are lanceolate and the plants are taller than ragweed usually is.  Except for that giant ragweed.  Did you know there was a giant ragweed?  Time for a closer look...

Leaves like goldenrod and brightly colored...

Yep.  Looks like goldenrod.  These plants don't seem to have the reddish stem of ragweed, and the flower heads lean over and downward.  I seem to remember that ragweed holds its flower heads straight up.  Probably safe to venture closer.  Oh no!  Some have flowerheads standing straight up!

Young goldenrod or mature ragweed?

And here's something else.  Is this a goldenrod plant that's just beginning to flower?  Or could it be ragweed? 
Now that I'm home, I can't remember if this plant had the raggy leaves or the nice, neat, narrow leaves.

Goldenrod!

Ah, now I feel better!  Ragweed is wind-pollinated, which is why it has to release those billions of pollen grains every year.  Goldenrod is pollinated by sweet little honeybees, because their pollen grains are too heavy to be carried by the wind.  (Of course, bees also visit ragweed for the pollen, but I'm hoping for the best!)

Foliage Friday: Rhapis Palms

I have to say, I don't really like palms.  To my eye, they look strange and naked in our lush, semi-tropical climate.  The proportion looks wrong to me, especially when planted singly.  And given that we do occasionally experience a hard freeze (remember last winter?), it's hard to believe there are so many planted in the Houston area..  That said, I do like palms that look more like shrubs.  We have some pretty palmettos that are native Texans and are quite cold-hardy. 

Closeup of Rhapis excelsa leaves

But my favorite palm is the Lady Palm, or Rhapis excelsa.  This relative of the Areca palm looks like bamboo, and is sometimes called Bamboo Palm.  I like the lush, tropical look of the foliage and the height: typically Lady Palm grows to a height of only 10-12 feet. 

Rhapis palm at Houston Zoo

Although this palm looks tropical, it's actually fairly cold hardy.  Older specimens survived our freezes last winter with no problems.  The picture above, taken in May of 2010, shows Lady Palms planted in the ground at the Houston Zoo.  You can hardly tell there was a freeze.

Rhapis palms -- lush and tropical

There are many different cultivated varieties on the market, and some are quite expensive.  They are said to be slow-growing when young, which may explain the high price.  But for a tropical look, or a rich, dense visual screen, they are perfect.  Plant in light shade or part sun for best results around here.  Full sun will cause yellowing and damage to foliage.

Another hardy palm that has a more delicate, finely textured look is Hardy Bamboo Palm, or Chamaeadorea microspadix.  It's got a very similar appearance, but the fronds are less fan-like.  I like that one too -- perhaps because it doesn't look like a palm!

Dwarf Barbados Cherry

This one's planted in a pot, really!

While I was out of town, my Dwarf Barbados Cherry (Malpighia glabra 'Nana') popped into flower.  This little trouper deserves extra credit, because it isn't even truly planted.  I knew I liked this Texas native shrub, but I never found a place for it in my garden.  So it sat in a white plastic pot so long that it rooted through the bottom of the pot and made itself at home.  Even the pot is now covered with creeping fig.

Barbados Cherry "tree" by the light post.

Barbados Cherry is evergreen, usually, in zone 9A and often as far north as Austin.  It doesn't get very tall -- maybe 5 feet tall -- and is easy to use in bonsai.  My daughter and I had a dollhouse-scale garden in the backyard, and Barbados Cherry makes a lovely little "tree."  It is easily pruned to any size whatsoever.  The dwarf variety is a little more cold-hardy than the regular-size shrub.  You sometimes see them available, too.  The larger Barbados Cherry is not native to the US, and gets between 10 and 12 feet tall.

Delicate pink flowers.

Barbados Cherry seems to grow well in sun or partial shade and isn't picky about soil conditions (obviously!).  It is very tolerant of drought, once established, and blooms periodically throughout the warmer months.  The blooms mature into tiny, tart "cherries," which are the source for a form of Vitamin C called acerola.  Mockingbirds love them too!

Cherries soon!

Wordless Wednesday

Fall Wildflowers

Wildflowers get a lot of attention in Texas during the springtime.  But I'm here to tell you, fall can be pretty spectacular too.  It's more of an up-close experience, usually.  You won't generally see the wide expanses of bright blue or red.  But there's more to wildflowers than bluebonnets and winecups.

Here's a small selection of wildflowers blooming in one small acre near Pleak, Texas.

Sensitive briar, or Mimosa pudica

Beautiful butter yellow color.

Almost like a wild melampodium.

The biggest stickerburs you ever saw.

A tiny little primrose?

Sweet little clover.

Blue flax and sensitive briar.

Threadleaf coreopsis?

Agalinis, or False Foxglove?

Dainty -- almost like a baby's breath.

Frogfruit, maybe?

Snow-on-the-Prairie

Euphorbia marginata

From a distance, this little shrub looks like it's covered with large white flowers.  Up close, however, it's easy to see that Snow-on-the-Prairie, or Euphorbia marginata, gets its handsome good looks from variegated bracts.  Like other members of the Euphorbia family, Snow-on-the-Prairie has small flowers.  Some might even call them insignificant.  But it more than makes up for it with these showy modified leaves at the base of the tiny flower.

Note the tiny flowers!

Some of the fields near my house are covered with Snow-on-the-Prairie now, and I wish I could better convey how striking it is.  Striking enough for me to put on my snake-proof boots and hike over through a barb-wire fence to take a picture of it.  Snow-on-the-Prairie is at its most attractive in the early fall -- and that alone makes me love it.  It's been so hot here lately that I could be convinced that fall isn't coming at all this year, except that the Snow-on-the-Prairie's blooming.

The leaves are slightly fuzzy.

Not everyone loves this plant, though. It's not all that wonderful to have in your fields if you are grazing cattle.  Many euphorbias have a toxic white latex sap, and this one is no exception.  Livestock can be poisoned if a great quantity is eaten: the sap severely irritates the mouth and gastrointestinal tract.  Luckily, however, it has an acrid taste and generally, animals won't consume enough of it to be fatal.

Usually about 3 feet tall.

Other names for this native annual shrub are White-margined Spurge and Snow-on-the-Mountain. Here in the bottomlands, however, Snow-on-the-Prairie seems more appropriate.  I have seen these plants occasionally available for sale at independent nurseries and garden centers, and the seeds are available online.  Take my word for it:  a field of Euphorbia marginata is stunning in September  Just keep the cows away!

I'm Glad It's Not In MY Yard, But...

Sharp-pod Morning Glory

Isn't it pretty?  This is Sharp-pod Morning Glory, also known as Coastal Morning Glory or Tievine.  It's a vining perennial that's native to the southeastern US, from Florida west to Mexico, and north to the southern part of North Carolina.  When it really gets going, it flowers from spring all the way to the first freeze.  Readers may recall that I have quite a thing for flowering vines.  But rest assured, I haven't planted this.

Quickly covers anything that doesn't move.

Morning Glories of all kinds are fairly assertive plants, but this one is unparalleled in its ability to colonize a garden.  It spreads from the roots when the stems are severed, and from seed.  Germination appears to be quite high and a full-grown plant can produce upwards of 10,000 seeds per season.  So my advice to you is don't plant it.

Native plant, though very aggressive

If, however, it's already growing in your area, enjoy it.  I love the way it looks draped over chain-link fences.  In a weird way, it even makes me nostalgic for chain-link itself.  When I was growing up, four-foot chain-link fences were standard everywhere, complete with little silver dog on the gate.  The prettiest fences were covered in either morning glories or the old climbing rose 'Blaze.'  Nowadays, chain-link is declassé.  Here in fence-crazy Texas, we're leaning to cedar or wrought iron.  But these beautiful flowers make me remember the old Cyclone fences rather fondly.

You can't believe what they get for these in online auctions!

Spunky, Punky Celosia

August in Houston.  This is the kind of weather that makes or breaks a gardener.  Frankly, I'd just as soon skip the whole entire month.  We hear rumors that up North, gardeners clean tools and read seed catalogs in the winter.  Well, that's what we'd like to do in August, except we can't.  We have to water.  Sometimes twice a day, for certain finicky container plants.

Celosia 'Punky Red'

But one little celosia has performed yeoman's duty this summer.  It is Celosia spicata and I'm almost certain that the variety is 'Punky Red.'  Almost certain, because (of course) I threw away the seed packet.  My daughter and I planted it in June after the cool-season annuals had conked out.  Here is our highly scientific method, so that you may duplicate our success:

First, seven-year-old assistant pours all the seeds into her hand.  Then, assistant tosses the entire handful in the flowerbed, all in the same spot.  Finally, elder gardener attempts to spread them out a bit with a hand rake.  That's it!  I don't even think we really watered there because for most of the summer, sunflowers clogged up the scene.  Now that the sunflowers have faded, the celosia are sprawling all over everything, entangling themselves with turnera, pavonia and soapwort.  Not too tidy, but it's a bright spot in our August-blasted garden.

Celosia - perfect summer flower

I'm going to get an iced tea now.  Whew!

Wildflowers: Ruellia humilis

Right now, untended fields are full of blooming Ruellia humilis, or Wild Petunia.  This is the untamed cousin of the 'Katie' ruellia you see in the nursery.  It blooms from May through about October, and is variable in color:  blooms can range from almost white to very dark indigo.  Ruellia is perennial, and tough as nails -- you already know this if you've tried to remove it from a flowerbed once it's established.  Ruellia humilis grows to about 2 feet tall and will do well in sun, part sun, and bright shade.  It isn't really picky about soil conditions, either.  Ruellia is a forage plant for browsing animals and attracts butterflies and moths.  Ruellia can be very assertive, though:  plant it in a place where you know you'll always want it!

Some People Don't Garden

I've been thinking lately about people who aren't interested in gardening.  (Yes, they're out there.  Lots of them!)  I read an interesting post on Garden Rant several days ago about planting meadows on the standard quarter-acre lot.  The post dovetailed with something that's been on my mind for several years now: the disconnect between the gardening aficionado and the  typical owner of a front yard.  Now, I'm sure this gulf exists between the hardcore fans of anything and the more mundane citizen.  I notice it when people talk to me about certain TV shows.  I'm just not interested.  I don't know, I don't care, I don't have the first clue.  And I know in my heart, I would never pay money or spend my time to find out.

(Photo: Native Texas Wildscapes, Houston, Texas)

I bet non-gardeners feel the same way when garden people recommend hort-trendy stuff like bogs, meadows, wildlife habitats, rainwater harvesting or replacing lawns with vegetables.  I'm thinking now about bloggers, writers, Master Gardening groups, garden clubs, etc.  I talk to average people who are concerned about the environment and who want to "be green," but they have no idea how to do it.  Sometimes the answers coming from the horticultural community are completely insensitive to the ability and interests of these folks.  Take native gardens, for example.  There are some fantastic gardeners doing wonderful things with native gardens in Texas.  But it is not a project for someone whose prior gardening experience was paying the lawn guy.  It takes specialized knowledge, hard work and lots of time to get "front yard" results.

(Photo:  Michelle Christman)

Personally, I'm very attracted to the idea of the front-yard vegetable garden.  I love those Edible Estates people. Nothing would please me more than thumbing my nose at my local HOA and planting cowpeas on the front yard.  I'd be sued into the middle of next week if I tried it, though.  Likely couldn't get away with a meadow either, or native grasses or a wildflower garden or a wildlife habitat.  And I'm interested!  I have the time and the interest and the knowledge to do all these things (and I do them in my tiny back yard) and I can't pull it off in the front yard.

(Not my house!)

So what are we going to recommend for people who don't garden for fun but work in the yard because it came with the house?  They need a place for the kids to play and they need to stay out of trouble with the HOA. They aren't interested in devoting all their free time to gardening, but they love the Earth as much as the next guy and would like to "be greener."  Can we just start with some baby steps, please?  Like how to manage a St. Augustinegrass lawn with fewer chemicals?  Or how to properly operate the sprinkler system that came with the house?  Or simply not to dump chemicals into the storm drains?  Does it all have to be so esoteric all the time?