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Sports

This white lily of the Nile appeared this summer within this exclusively blue colony.

Horticulturally, a sport is a genetically variant growth. Although it is more common among extensively bred or genetically aberrative cultivars than simple species, the most basic of lily of the Nile can, on rare occasion, change floral color from blue to white or from white to blue, as I mentioned on the sixth of July. Unvariegated or ‘green’ sports are a more common annoyance among some cultivars with variegated foliage, such as popular cultivars of Euonymus japonica, since they grow faster with more chlorophyll, and can overwhelm the original and more desirable variegated growth. The yellow hybrid gladiola that I posted a picture of for Six on Saturday on the twenty-ninth of June could be a sport of an adjacent orange and yellow hybrid gladiola. I did not give it much consideration because I assumed it to be the first bloom that I noticed from one of a few bulbs that somehow survived for a few years longer than expected. Until last summer, the only hybrid gladiolas to survive from a mixed batch planted years earlier had been either purple or the aforementioned orange and yellow. However, now that the yellow bloom is gone, an equally unfamiliar orangish red bloom emerged from the same small colony of bulbs that had bloomed only orange and yellow. As their common name suggests, hybrid gladiolas are hybrids, so are innately genetically unpredictable, and therefore have potential to generate sports as they multiply. Although I do not know for certain that this new orangish red hybrid gladiola did not survive without blooming for the past few years, I sort of suspect that it and the new yellow hybrid gladiola are more recently developed sports of the original orange and yellow hybrid gladiola. I hope that both are as reliably perennial as the original.

This orangish red hybrid gladiola seems to be a sport of the orange and yellow hybrid gladiola.
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July 12, 2024 – Memorial Tree Update (July 14)

The Memorial Tree is becoming a productive member of its ecosystem!

Every year, there is less to write about regarding the Memorial Tree in Felton Covered Bridge Park. That is because every year, it becomes more independent. It no longer needs structure pruning for clearance above the surrounding parking lot. It no longer benefits from supplemental irrigation. The mesh around the base of the trunk really should be removed. So should the truss between the two lowest main limbs. The stake remains merely as a precaution for strong winds, but is likely completely unnecessary. It can be removed after defoliation next winter. The trunk is quite sturdy. Growth is quite vigorous. The branch structure seems to be rather awkward, but such structure is normal for such young specimens of this particular species, and is very unlikely to compromise structural integrity as the tree matures. The canopy is slightly asymmetrical, but not problematically so. The crew who maintains the park replenishes the mulch within the parking lot island around the tree more regularly than they had in the past, and cuts weeds when necessary. They are very protective of this tree, so pull weeds between the trunk and the surrounding mesh rather than get too close to the trunk with their weed whackers. Recently, a neighbor pulled weeds before weed whacking became necessary. Although oaks can technically bloom and produce acorns after only about five years, almost all delay bloom until they are about twenty years old, and some wait until they are twice as old. A lack of bloom this early is therefore normal. The development of two oak apples was a surprise though. Apparently, an oak apple gall moth considers this tree to be mature enough to sustain its eggs. It is as if this little Memorial Tree is already growing up to become a productive member of its ecosystem!

From the ground, I could not get a good picture of these first oak apples.
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Perennial Gladiolus

Gladiolus papilio, butterfly gladiolus

Gladiolus papilio, butterfly gladiolus has been performing very well, and, unlike the more common fancy hybrid gladiolus, it has been very reliably perennial. It multiplies and migrates like a wildflower. I know that I brag about it more than I should, and I just posted a picture of it for Six on Saturday last Saturday, but it happens to be one of my favorite perennials now. It was a gift from Tangly Cottage Gardening in the autumn of 2018, almost six years ago. Prior to that, I had been wanting to grow perennial gladiolus for quite a while, although I was not familiar with such species. I was only familiar with the common fancy hybrid sorts, which are generally not reliably perennial. Gladiolus murielae, Abyssinian gladiolus that arrived a few years ago as a gift from a neighbor may eventually inhabit a different portion of the same landscape that the butterfly gladiolus inhabits. It neither multiplies nor migrates as much as the butterfly gladiolus, and is a bit more garish in bloom, but is both reliably perennial and compatible with wildflowers, and technically, is probably more appropriate to that particular refined landscape. Various cultivars of Watsonia, bugle lily, most of which also came from Tangly Cottage Gardening, could also inhabit the same landscape. There is no rush to decide anytime soon, and the refined landscapes at work are constantly evolving. Within my home garden, I can be less concerned with how visually compatible some of such species and cultivars are, and be more concerned with growing what I enjoy. After all, that is how I acquire so many odd species and cultivars with so much history and from so many important gardens, and even from so many natural ecosystems. It is what makes my home garden so important to me.

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Six on Saturday: ‘Variegata’

‘Variegata’ is a common designation for the first variegated cultivar of a species. Fancier or later distinct cultivars get fancier cultivar designations. The first three of these six are variegated, but lack a cultivar designation as if variegation is normal for the species. The fourth seems to have a few cultivars with the same designation. The last two could be the only variegated cultivars of their respective species. I can not remember ever seeing any of the first four without variegation. The fifth is still rare. The sixth is now more popular than unvariegated.

1. Hypoestes phyllostachya, polka dot plant lacks cultivar designation. This was labeled merely as white. Variation of foliar variegation indicate that they were grown from seed.

2. Hypoestes phyllostachya, polka dot plant is also pink, which is exactly how this other half of them was labeled, likewise without cultivar designation. ‘Variegata’ would suit it.

3. Hypoestes phyllostachya, polka dot plant variegation is variable. Some specimens are more green than others. At least two of the pink sort are variegated with red such as this.

4. Aucuba japonica ‘Variegata’, gold dust plant is about as variable as polka dot plant is, but is known by the same cultivar name. Of course, modern cultivars have other names.

5. Tupidanthus calyptratus ‘Variegata’, mallet flower was not planned. I have wanted to grow the typical unvariegated type since I met it in 1986. Brent sent me this raggedy old but rare variegated specimen so that I would grow more for him. I am learning to like it.

6. Solandra maxima ‘Variegata’, cup of gold vine was also unplanned. I grew the typical unvariegated type to the left first. Then, Brent got me the variegated cultivar to the right. I am getting to like it because it is more docile. The unvariegated sort grows like a weed!

This is the link for Six on Saturday, for anyone else who would like to participate: https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/2017/09/18/six-on-saturday-a-participant-guide/

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North & South

pink jasmine, Jasminum polyanthum

Brent and I studied horticulture through the second half of the 1980s at California Polytechnic State University at San Luis Obispo, which is known more simply as Cal Poly. San Luis Obispo is exactly halfway between where each of us came from. He came from the region west of Los Angeles, two hundred miles to the southeast, which is considered to be south by the standards of California. I came from the region west of San Jose, two hundred miles to the northwest, which is considered to be north by the standards of California. He considered San Luis Obispo to be within Northern California. I considered it to be within Southern California. Consequently, when either of us encountered a species with which we lacked prior experience, we assumed it to be regionally popular within the respectively unfamiliar half of California. Such assumptions were accurate for some species. For example, Brent was as fascinated with redwoods as I was with desert fan palms. He knew that redwoods are more popular here than in Southern California, and eventually went to experience them growing wild within their native range near Santa Cruz. I knew that desert fan palms are more popular in Southern California than here, and eventually went to experience them growing wild within their native range near Palm Springs. Pink jasmine, Jasminum polyanthum, was an odd one. Because Brent had never encountered it before, he assumed that it had been popular in Northern California. Because I had never encountered it before, I assumed that it had been popular in Southern California. In actuality, it only became commonly available throughout California at about the time that we encountered it, so had previously been popular neither here nor there. Nonetheless, to Brent, it is still as northern as it is southern to me.

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What Is This IV?!

Rotheca myricoides / Clerodendrum myricoides ?

It is not a species of ivy. ‘IV’ is merely its Roman numeric designation as the fourth species that I am unable to identify since I started assigning numeric designations to them. So then, what is it? I suspect that it is likely Rotheca myricoides, which is alternatively known as Clerodendrum myricoides. ‘Ugandense’ is a cultivar name that, in typical modern tradition of botanic nomenclature that violates the simple standards of botanic nomenclature, now seems to be an acceptable species name in conjunction with either genus name. Its common names include butterfly flower, blue butterfly plant and blue butterfly bush, although the latter sounds more like a cultivar of Buddleia. I have not actually confirmed its identity, and I have no idea how it got into one of our landscapes. It grew under the carcass of a Brunfelsia pauciflora, yesterday, today and tomorrow, which did not survive my meager attempt to salvage it from compost. I can only assume that it arrived, most likely as an ungerminated seed, with the now deceased yesterday, today and tomorrow. It initially grew quickly with only two straight canes about four feet tall. I would have pulled it as a weed, but was intrigued by it. It did not grow much this year, but instead took time to branch, and is now taking time to bloom with these few intricate flowers on top. I am now pleased that I did not pull it as a weed. If it really is butterfly flower, it can get a bit taller than it already is. So, because it grew in front of an exemplary sasanqua camellia, I will likely relocate it to a more appropriate situation during its winter dormancy. I am fond enough of its sky blue flowers to propagate a few more copies of it.

The delicate pastel blue flowers are prettier up close.

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Second White

How did this get in here?!

Lily of the Nile had previously been exclusively blue at work. Many from undoubtedly several different sources had been added to the landscapes for the past century or so, but, until recently, none were white. Even within a large and likely original colony, where genetic variability is evident among specimens that were added from different sources, or that grew from seed over the years, all bloomed monochromatically blue. I added the first white lily of the Nile only a few years ago. They are a significant herd of the same cultivar that I grew from only seven original pups that I acquired in the early 1990s. They are separate from the other lily of the Nile, in a neat row in front of the White Garden of el Catedral de Santa Clara de Los Gatos. They are not as fancy as they sound of course, and bloom with only a few flowers in the partial shade there, but they were supposedly the only white lily of the Nile. However, I recently found this other white lily of the Nile within the large and very established colony that provided many lily of the Nile for other landscapes. It could have grown from seed, and finally matured enough to bloom. I suspect that it merely reverted, as lily of the Nile sometimes does. I suppose that I should be pleased with it, but I am not so certain. It is almost intrusive, both to the exclusivity of the single white cultivar, and also to the exclusivity of the monochromatically blue colony. I have noticed within other old landscapes that, once one pup blooms white, others can follow its example. The same applies to a pup that blooms blue within a white colony. I may tag this particular pup for removal after bloom.

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Six on Saturday: Homey

Almost nothing is purchased for my garden. Not much more is purchased for work. Just about everything is recycled from somewhere else, along with its history. Consequently, the landscapes are as homey as my home garden is. It is often difficult to not brag about it a bit too much. It is gratifying that others can enjoy so much of what I have enjoyed in my garden. For Six on Saturday, though, I will be brief with my descriptions of these few flowers that bloomed last week. Half are angel’s trumpets. Half are white. Of course, it is no coincidence that white is my favorite color. I requested pruning scraps of single white angel’s trumpet and white orchid cactus. Even if recycling, I may be somewhat selective. It all works out well.

1. Gladiolus papilio, butterfly gladiolus that was budded last week bloomed this week. It makes its landscape feel delightfully homey for me. I should have gotten a better picture.

2. Hydrangea macrophylla, bigleaf hydrangea, like so much of what blooms here, came from another garden, then bloomed too well in recovery to not move out to a landscape.

3. Brugmansia, angel’s trumpet of an unidentified cultivar remains unidentified, but is a bit more obviously pink than any other color. Perhaps its cultivar name is not important.

4. Brugmansia candida, angel’s trumpet with fluffy double white flowers is what started all this fuss about angel’s trumpet. Yellow ‘Charles Grimaldi’ was the second acquisition.

5. Brugmansia, angel’s trumpet with single white flowers is an unidentified cultivar that I got merely because I like its single white flowers, but is not so great for the landscapes.

6. Epiphyllum, orchid cactus with clear white flowers remains as unidentified as most of these Six. Like all of these six, it also has important history that makes its garden homey.

This is the link for Six on Saturday, for anyone else who would like to participate: https://thepropagatorblog.wordpress.com/2017/09/18/six-on-saturday-a-participant-guide/

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P II

Hibbertia scandens

P was for pea last Sunday. Although the spelling has not changed since then, this is a different topic now, so is not actually a sequel. P just happens to also be for the floral fragrance of Hibbertia scandens, which, to some, resembles that of what tomcats do to designate their territory. Its several common names are no more appealing. It is known as golden guinea vine, climbing guinea flower and twining guinea flower. Rather than possibly offending others of Italian descent, I refer to it simply as snake vine. Contrary to its several other common names, it is not actually from the Guinea Region of Western Africa, but is instead from Eastern Australia and New Guinea. Incidentally, New Guinea is no more affiliated with Western Africa than it is with descendents of Italian Immigrants in America, or plump rodents who identify as pigs of the Andes Mountains on the West Coast of South America. I got a few cuttings of snake vine at the end of last September. One cutting is growing quite nicely. Another took time to bloom with this single flower that looks like Carl Junior did not quite beat the train. Its floral fragrance is almost disappointingly unobjectionable. I suspect that more are necessary to be perceptibly fragrant. From my limited experience with the species, I remember than only a profusion of bloom produced merely a slightly objectionable fragrance. Like so much of what I grow here, I have no idea of what to do with these new snake vines. Fortunately, they are more docile than the white perennial pea that I mentioned last Sunday, or the cup of gold vine that I mentioned earlier. Eventually, I should be able to accommodate some within at least one of the many refined landscapes at work. If so, I will not put enough of it within the same situation to generate annoyingly objectionable floral fragrance. Nor should any individual specimen be allowed to grow large enough to do so. I would be more tolerant of a slight bit of such fragrance within my home garden only because I happen to be fond of this species now that I have reacquainted with it.

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P

This dinky floral spike was all I needed to identify this as white Lathyrus latifolius.

P is for pea, or more specifically, perennial pea, or Lathyrus latifolius, which does not begin with P, but that is not the point. Perennial pea is a naturalized exotic species here. Within our landscapes, it is difficult to kill. I suspect that it is just as difficult to kill outside of the landscapes, although I have not tried. After all, it is quite pretty, and does not seem to be too invasive beyond situations that it finds to be favorable. Trying to kill what grows beyond the landscapes here would be futile anyway, since there is so much more of it beyond the boundaries of what we have access to. However, I would not want to add any to areas where it is not already established and interfering with local ecosystems. That leaves me with a dilemma. I just acquired a perennial pea that I want to grow more of, but there is no place to grow it. Almost all of the perennial pea here blooms obnoxiously bright purplish pink. Very few bloom lighter pink with a swirly pattern. About as few bloom white. I am told that perennial pea can bloom red, but I am getting to suspect that such red is what I consider to be obnoxiously bright purplish pink. Anyway, I found a perennial pea that blooms white a several years ago, and grew several copies of it. I shared all the copies until none were left. I thought that I could always return to the original source for more. Unfortunately, the source was buried under debris that was removed from a mudslide two winters ago. What a bummer! I had been watching for white perennial pea since then. Then, last Wednesday, I saw it! It was not much, since only one floral stalk was beginning to bloom, but it was enough for identification. I got a good bit of its upper taproot and stems for many cuttings. The base of the taproot remains as a more permanent source if I need it, and if nothing happens to it. I am so pleased with this acquisition, even though I have no idea of what to do with it, like so much of what grows out there.

This is a better picture of the original stock from three years ago.