Aristolochia

I was giving my students a mid-term ID exam last Saturday, when we encountered this unusual vine, growing in the Livington Ripley gardens. 

The plant is Aristolochea gigantea, or Dutchman's pipe, a vine native to Brazil.  The flowers, as you can see, are amazing.  Large - almost 8" diameter, the flower consists of a red, velvety flat disc white venation.

A large bladder shaped chamber is attached to the disc with a small tube.  While the structure itself looks a lot like a carnivorous pitcher plant, like Nepenthes. 

But when we dissected the flower, the presence of any digesting fluids was nonexistent.  Instead, the tubular structure was covered with long, fine hairs.  I speculated the hairs were key in moving insects into the tube and to the flower at the base, and further guessed that the pollinator was some kind of scavenging insect, like a fly -- since the flower itself looked like rotting flesh.

Indeed, this plant is considered a carrion flower and is often pollinated by flies.  The hairs play a pivotal role -- they keep the flies trapped at the base of the capsule for several days.  The fly lives on nectar in the capsule until the pollen is released by the anthers, at which point the hairs drop down and the fly climbs out of the chamber.

Aristolochia is derivative from the ancient Greek words Aristo- which means 'best' and -lochia which means 'delivery'.  For a long time this plant was believed to be helpful in childbirth.  It's since been determined that this plant is actually quite dangerous to the kidneys.

Bergenia ciliata

Those of you familiar with spring perennials will probably recognize this plant with little difficulty -- it's no doubt a Bergenia.  The tall cymelike inflorescence is a giveaway.  I've never employed Bergenias often, though I can't say why.  They're relatively tough plants, but perhaps a bit awkward for use en masse and at the same time, too diminutive to use as a specimen.

Closer inspection of the leaves cancels out any assumption this plant is the most popular species of Bergenia - B. cordifolia. The leaves on that species aren't hairy like this one.  In fact, the common name for B. cordifolia is pigsqueak because of the noise those leaves make when rubbed together.

This species is B. ciliata, justifiably referring to the hairs on the leaves.  Bergenias are native to mountainous areas of central Asia, such as the Himalayas and Afghanistan.  I'd hazard a guess that this species is native to an arid climate and the hairs on the leaves are employed to capture moisture from the air, much like plants native to desert climates.

Spathiphyllum

Here's another shot from my Puerto Rico trip a two years ago.  Though the weather is warming up here in DC, these photos aren't helping, as even a touch of spring weather can't compare with the thought of being on a tropical island.  I'm suffering withdrawal!

Anyhoo, you don't need to go to Vieques to see this plant.  Chances are it's growing in your nearby shopping mall, or you can spot it in a building's atrium.  It's Spathiphyllum, or the peace lily.  It's a very, very shade tolerant plant so it's often used in interiorscaping. 

But they rarely look this good in a mall.  The leaves here are large and lusciously jade green.  The flowers, which are a spathe-and-spadix structure.  The white part is the spathe, which is a bract, or modified leaf.  The yellow spike in the center is the spadix, which is an inflorescence, consisting of many small flowers.  The plant is called peace lily, evidently due to the white color of the spadix. 

Water Lily

 It occurred to me this morning, after posting a photo of the bench in Giverny, that although I've posted about the wonderful gardens there before, I've never shared more than one measly photo of the famous pond with its very famous waterlilies.

  

Monet's pond is largely populated with Nymphaea odorata, a fragrant, summer-blooming waterlily that is actually an invasive species in the west, where it can become weedy with an absence of cold winters.

The wide flat leaves (the petioles are at the center and reach to the bottom of the pond where they root) help keep the leaves afloat. 

The sepals on the flowers are thick and leathery, which also helps keep the flowers (fragrant, as the species name implies) afloat.

Nymphaea of course means nymph and refers to the ancient Greek belief in feminine free spirits that were often found at springs or water bodies.

Neomarica

To me, one of the most striking perennials in Hawaii was Neomarica northiana or walking iris.  Clearly the plant resembles Iris, what with its flower structure of standards and falls.  Though it's distinguishable from Iris because a plantlet develops around a newly pollinated flower.  At this point, when the leaves begin to grow from the base of the old flower, it becomes weighed down and eventually falls to the ground and develops roots.   Thus the name walking iris.

Marica is the name of the Roman water nymph who lived in the River Liris.  Neo simply means new.  

Monstera deliciousa

I was inspired by last week's posts, many of which featured indoor plants, to share some of the species I have at home.  First up is Monstera deliciosa or swiss cheese plants.  Though most people know this plant by its genus.

Monstera is actually a vine which explains whey I have several stakes propping this plant up.  In the wild it can scramble up hillsides and along the trunks of large trees.

 

Though it's native to Central America, I saw it everyhwere in Hawaii - in planned landscapes or growing along the sides of highways, vining up trees.  The plant is even somewhat iconic in Hawaii.  Below it's incorporated in a mural in the library of the Four Seasons Lodge at Koele.

And many would recognize its leaf used in patterns for Hawaiian quilts, like this one below:

However, it's not to be confused with split leaf Philodendron, or Philodendron pertusum, which looks quite similar.  In this shot, it's P. pertusum growing next to the Alpinia.

Red Twig Dogwood

The allée below occurs shortly after you enter Longwood Gardens, and while it's a bit busier than the plane allées in Versailles or Fontainebleau, it's still quite striking.  The large trees are Taxodium distichum, and more on them another time.  The green hedge is composed of Thuja occidentalis. This season, red twig dogwoods (Cornus) are planted at the lowest tier. 

You've no doubt noticed I haven't committed to a species yet. While I suspect these are Cornus sericea or red twig dogwood, they could also be Cornus alba, or variegated red twig dogwood.  The former generally has a more brilliant red hue in the winter which is why I stake my bets on that one.  I also know this is a seasonal planting and thus the variegated, green and white foliage of C. alba is less important.  

The photos above are a textbook use of a red twig dogwood - the green hedge provides a backdrop for the red stems.  As you can see, the effect is best when viewed from afar, like in the first picture.

Like Cornus florida or C. kousa, red twig dogwood is opposite-branching and has ovate leaves with entire margins.  However unlike those plants, which have showy bracts acting as petals, this plant simply has a flat-topped umbel of small flowers in the late spring.

Cryptomeria japonica

Here's a shot of a building outside the National Cathedral with Cryptomeria japonica accenting the corner of the structure.

Cryptomerias are native to Japan where the trees reach sequoia-like heights of 80 meters.  Cryptomeria japonica is the only species in its genus, making the plant monotypic.  It is also endemic to Japan (meaning that it is only found - in nature - in Japan) and extremely common there. Japan is the most diverse area for conifers -- more families (6), genera (18) and species (45) of conifers are found in Japan than anywhere else.  

 

Cryptomerias are commonly referred to as 'Japanese cedars' which is a misnomer since the plant is not a cedar (Cedrus) at all.  It isn't even a member of the cedar family (Pinaceae), but a member of the cypress (Cupressaceae) family.  The branchlets remind me of little pipe cleaners, with small compressed leaves that look similar to the juvenile awls of junipers.

The bark is quite similar to other Cupressaceae species, with a reddish, cinnamon color and vertical fibrous strips.  You can make some assumptions about the etymology of the word Cryptomeria.  Crypto- is derivative of the ancient Greek word krypto- which means hidden.  Meri- means 'part'.  Essentially the name is referring to the fact that all the reproductive parts of the plant are hidden in the seed capsules.

Euphorbia pulcherrima

Chance are, you read that botanical name and didn't realize it was the name for what may be one of the most recognizable plants in the country, poinsettia.  The specimens below are growing next to a fairly recognizable man, George Washington.  These shots were taken at the National Cathedral. 

 

Poinsettias are named for Joel Roberts Poinsett, the first US minister to Mexico.  The plant is native to Mexico, though can be found in some other parts of Central America.  Its association to Christmas began in the 16th Century in Mexico, when folklore began to tell of a young woman who was too poor to offer gifts to the church. She gathered weeds, presented them to the altar, and the next day they became brilliantly red flowers.  

Of course, here comes the part where I ruin some of the fantasy of the story.  The red "petals" one associates with a poinsettia flower are merely bracts.  The small yellow and red bundles above are the actual flowers.  Bracts are modified leaves and in the case with this species, they turn red only after they consistently receive twelve hours of darkness each night.  This is called photoperiodism.  The red (or white, pink or marbled hues) are brightest however if the daylight is as bright as possible.  Of course, nearer to the equator, this light requirement is easily achievable all year long.

In Mexico, the plant is commonly referred to as "noche buena" which is also a term for Christmas Eve.  Given this, it seemed like an appropriate plant for today's post.  Merry Christmas!

Ficus carica

As excited as I was to find the quince tree in Dumbarton Oaks last November, I was equally delighted to find fig trees (Ficus carica) lining the walled vegetable garden.  Figs have been a favorite of mine and my family's for generations. My Italian grandmother (who is 100 years old) loves nothing more than a perfectly ripe fig in the late summer.

Figs are easy to recognize, due to their straggly habit and large, deeply lobed leaves. If you were unsure that you truly were looking at a fig (or at least a member of the Ficus genus) you could simply snap off a leaf and wait for the milky, latex-like sap to appear.  

Of course, if there are fig fruits actually on the tree, like the one below, you probably don't need to hesitate in your identification.  But, calling this "fruit" is inaccurate.  The thing that we usually consider a fig is technically a flower.  The flower is blooming - and the fruit subsequently sets - inside the pod you see below.  Your next question, I'm sure, is how does the flower get pollinated if it's fully covered?  Ficus carica has a special relationship with the fig wasp, which burrows into the small hole at the center of the fig (technically called an ostiole) to pollinate the flower.

Figs have been popular for millennia. Fossil records dating back to 9000 BC indicate the fig was cultivated in the Jordon Valley long before wheat or barley - or even legumes, were grown for agriculture.  The plant grows best in Mediterranean climates but can survive in areas as cold as Hungary, so long as the summers are hot.

The 'fruit' are high in fiber and calcium, as well as many other nutrients, and are high in antioxidants too.  When they are fresh they don't travel well, so for large-scale agricultural purposes, they are often dried.

Inside the library at the garden, an exhibit of botanical art was on display and sure enough, Ficus carica was featured in the title art.  In addition to the plant's rich history of agricultural and commercial use (fig newtons, anyone?), it's featured repeatedly in the bible and in early Greek literature.

American Beech

A few posts back, I promised to write about the American beech, or Fagus grandifolia, at Dumbarton Oaks.  To be sure, if you have been to Dumbarton Oaks, you know precisely which tree I'm talking about.  Even people who wouldn't be able to identify this tree as American beech would remember this particular specimen, as striking as it is.

 

Beeches are extremely slow growing (and Fagus grandifolia is more slow growing than its relative, the European beech, or Fagus sylvatica). In Central Park, specimens of European beech abound, but it's hard to find an American beech like this.  Low-branching and with shallow roots resting on the ground, this is an ideal specimen for introducing the plant to students. 

It's easy to identify a beech by its smooth (elephant skin-like) bark, which is often covered with graffiti.  In fact, a part of beech trunk, with the words "D. Boon Killd Bar o this tree 1775" inscribed on it, is on display at the Grandfather Mountain Nature Museum, though it's been proven that Daniel Boone himself was not the graffiti artist.

Of course, in the Virginia-Maryland-DC area, American beeches are downright ubiquitous.  I encountered the one above while running on the C&O Canal in Georgetown.  In its native forest habitat, beeches tend to sucker and so you will also find communities of beeches. I've been on old tracts of land where the only tree around is the beech.  That's the result of this suckering tendency and because it has very hard wood  (which consequently protected it from harvest until the chainsaw was invented).

The fall color is...okay.  It has a rusty golden-orange color which is just fine.  The leaves are ovate and the presence of very small spines along the margin help distinguish it from Fagus sylvatica, which has an entire margin.

Beeches produce nuts that provide food for dozens of birds and forest mammals.  The seedcaps are fuzzy, four-winged capsules which are persistent on the tree through early winter or spring.  The plant also provides habitat for many caterpillars.  The wood is used for furniture, flooring and woodenware.

Though the bark alone makes beeches easy to identify, the buds are also very distinctive.  Long and slender, they have always reminded me of a spindle on a spinning wheel.  I'm guessing, more specifically, in some deep recess of my memory, they remind me of the cursed spindle that Sleeping Beauty is fated to touch. I looked up a clip online and am pretty sure that's where my association comes from.  Since it's Friday, and who doesn't like a bit of Tchaikovsky and Disney, see for yourself here.

Cedrus deodara

Across the lawn from the katsura tree in yesterday's post, stand these regal specimens of Cedrus deodara or deodar cedar.  This is probably in my top-five list for conifers (stay posted for that entry!).  I love the deodar cedar's graceful, feathery habit.  ...There is one specimen in Central Park's Cedar Hill that I've shown to students since I've begun teaching and it never fails to take my breath away.

 

Cedrus is in the Pinaceae family and is classified as such because its leaves are long, cylindrical needles.  Other Pinaceae genera include Pinus, Tsuga, Larix, Abies and Picea.

 

Unlike pine trees, which have needles bundled together in fascicles, Cedrus species have the needles arranged in spurs.  Cedrus deodara usually has between 15 and 25 needles per spur, whereas Cedrus atlantica glauca (blue atlas cedar) has 30+ needles per spur.  

...I have to admit, I'm amused that between this post and my post on white oak, readers could think that I always have a fresh manicure.  It's definitely not the norm!

 

Cedrus, and other genera in the Pinaceae genus, have two sets of cones.  On lower branches, you find the smaller male cones, like the ones above.  These form through late summer into fall and when they are "ripe" they release pollen into the wind.  

 

In the upper reaches of the tree (I used a 40X on this zoom!) you'll find the female cones (and a few male cones as well).  The female cones receive the pollen and the take up to two years to produce seeds.  When the seeds are ready for dispersal, the scales of the cones open up and release them to the wind.  The female cones generally exist in the top of the canopy to disperse the seeds as far away as possible.   Most Pinaceae cones will only open up if the air is dry.  In rainy or humid weather the cones -- sometimes even ones that have fallen to the forest floor -- remain closed, since the wet weather will hinder seed dispersal.

Pseudocydonia sinensis

Last week, when I was visiting Dumbarton Oaks, I noticed some deep red leaves on the ground.  At first glance, I wondered (irritably) if Dumbarton Oaks used a tree as plebeian as the dreaded Bradford pear.  Those can, despite their other problems, exhibit some lovely rose petal-like fall color.  But rounding the corner, I happily realized this was a different tree.

 

As you can see, the fluted bark is exfoliated and quite different from Pyrus.   Instead, the bark was more similar to Pinus bungeana, or lacebark pine.  The mottling isn't just white, silver, peach and gray, like Platanus, Stewartia or Lagerstroemia, but has an army green color in the bark as well.  It's quite striking.

 

The plant was also a mystery to me; I had no idea what it was.  My best bet was that it was still a relative to Pyrus or at the very least, a member of the Rosaceae family.  Looking up at the canopy, I got another clue.

At the time, a glimpse of these large fruit furthered my belief that this may have been a pear.  Though they are awfully lemon-yellow for a pear, it seemed possible.  I determined I'd have to do a bit more research when I got home to pin down exactly what this was.  

In any case, I was wowed by the contrast between the deep red foliage with the bright yellow fruit. 

It turns out that this was Pseudocydonia sinensis, or Chinese quince.  It's a very rare specimen tree, native to China, that is indeed in the Rosaceae family.  The fall color, fruit and beautiful bark are all characteristic of the species.  For a long time, it was classified in the Cydonia (quince) genus, but the absence of spines ultimately led to its classification in its own genus (P. sinensis is the only species in the genus). Cydonia is not to be confused with the shrub with the same common name, Chaenomeles.

PJM Rhododendron

Here's another iPhone shot of a Central Park plant taken on a run this week: Rhododendron 'PJM' group.   I say "group" because the specimen below is a PJM type of cultivar, but I can't fathom which specific cultivar it is.  PJMs are crosses between R. carolinianum and R. dauricum var. sempervirens.  They are named for Peter J. Mezitt, founder of Weston Nurseries in Massachussetts.

 

PJM Rhodis have much smaller leaves than R. maximum or R. catawbiense, two other popular species.  The flowers are a bit smaller, too and don't bloom in umbels.  Some cultivars, like this one, turn a bronzy purple in winter. 

The plant typically blooms in spring but many of these group will bloom again in late fall.  I've seen cultivars of PJMs bloom almost all winter, though in less profusion.  Overall, the plant may remind you more of an Azalea-type Rhododendron, but if you count the stamens on this flower, you will see there are ten; Azaleas have five stamens.