Today, you may be surprised to learn, is the first day of Fall. Fall, you may feel, commenced weeks ago—just in time for the football season, innumerable Fall sales, and references to Fall in news reports. “Here Comes Fall Weather,” announced the Washington Post on September 15th. New York Magazine published its Fall Fashion issue in mid-August, when the city was basking, if not baking, in 80-degree temperatures.

Premature or no, I don’t care much for Fall; Autumn, on the other hand, I’m mad for. The word “Fall” comes freighted with glum connotations of descent, decline and peril. The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Falling in battle. The fall of Icarus. The fall before which pride proverbially goeth. A hip-shattering fall down the stairs. Yes, one does fall in love, but love too comes with pitfalls.

The reason I am so crotchety about the “Fall” (the word derived from the falling of leaves) is that the term conveys none of the fertile vitality that is such a feature of this dimension of the year.

So join me in bidding adieu to both newly-departed Summer and ill-named Fall, and herald the first day of awesome Autumn. Together let us welcome what John Keats describes as the “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness” in his ode “To Autumn,” perhaps the English language’s best-loved poem.

The existentialist writer Albert Camus—no Pollyanna he!—was likewise partial to this parturient season, writing “Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” The title of his novel, “The Fall” (“La Chute”), by contrast, refers to mankind’s fall from grace in the Garden of Eden, a fall from which we’re still trying to get up.

Like Spring, Autumn offers the gardeners among us (hear us grow) a new beginning, and the prospect of a bountiful and varied harvest. The season is the ideal planting and growing time for lettuce, spinach, kale, cabbage, turnips, and Brussels sprouts.

This particular year the second gardening season is particularly welcome. This just-past summer’s record-shattering heat wave wreaked havoc on tender annuals like peppers and tomatoes.

When crops encounter a jolt of harsh weather (blast-furnace heat, or the unseasonable and unreasonable cold snap) they do something very sensible: they shut down. Unable to flee climactic extremes, plants over the last few million years developed the survival technique of withdrawing their metabolisms from exposure. They steadfastly refuse to flower, fruit, or ripen until the extreme heat or cold passes; only then do they agree to resume normal growth.

In much of the U.S., the extreme heat sizzled on for six weeks, right in the heart of summer. Autumn—“green autumn” as I think of it—offers a reprieve from the summer’s ill-behaved temperatures and diminished harvest.

“Second summer” is now in full swing, offering gardeners the chance to reap the autumnal bounty. In northern states, gardens will flourish until mid-October, and even late October, if you’re near the Atlantic coast. Gardeners in the South will carry on gardening into late November, and as late as mid-December in the Deep South and Southwest (South Texas, Southern New Mexico and Arizona, and Southern California).

Gardeners in the South’s balmier climes can enjoy a harvest both longer and broader, which includes collard greens and broadleaf mustard. One shortcoming of second summer gardening are the shorter days, which affect a few temperate (Northern) annuals, but are tolerated by crops and flowers in most of the country.

In autumn, forward-looking gardeners—avant-gardeners!—will be planning and planting ahead. Numerous crops can be planted now for overwintering, so you can enjoy them in both spring and summer next year.

And then there is the “dream dimension” of fall gardening. Autumn is the right time to plant 2012-bearing garlic, fruits (blackberries, raspberries, strawberries, grapes, blueberries), ornamental plants (hydrangea), spring-flowering bulbs (tulips, daffodils, hyacinth), pansies, echinacea, and hellebores. Next spring and summer your garden will be lovelier and sweeter for your efforts.

My fellow American gardeners, grab your hats, pull on your wellingtons, and let us return to our gardens for our second summer. Let us rejoice in the poignant and flavorful rewards of green autumn, the “ Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.”

On my way to the last Heronswood Nursery west coast open house for 2011, I paused at a red light and waited to turn left. Coming from the opposite direction, I saw a motorcycle. It was very early morning, Saturday. There were few other vehicles on the road. The motorcycle was coming fast, accelerating hard down a hill, maybe a quarter mile away. Even at that distance I could see that it was a sport bike with the driver practically lying on the seat.

Virtually all motorcycles are quick these days. Generally, they go from 0 to 60 miles per hour in about 4 seconds. The fast ones do it in less than 3 seconds. And unless they are large cruisers, most will do a quarter mile at well over 120 mph. This particular one was hitting the mid 120s. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t be able to stop before the light. Then I remembered how light the bike must be and what great brakes it no doubt had.

The driver began slowing. I imagined the satisfying feeling of force shoving him forward as the brakes caught and held and him bracing against the handle bars and gripping the seat with his knees. As he approached the stop light, there was a dip in the road, and from my perspective all but the top part of the driver and the bike’s wind screen disappeared. Then that too was gone. Like slowed frames of film, I saw for an instant his legs in the air and then maybe the bike’s wheels as it flew up and over. It all happened lightning fast and seemed rather like the ultimate goal of his unconscious mind: instant death. “I do not like my life; please remove it immediately.”

I drove a motorcycle when I was 20. It was a well-used 1967 BMW R69S—a fine machine. I weighed about 110 lbs; it weighed 450 lbs, so we were a bit mismatched. There was a rhythm to getting it on its kick stand. I perfected that because not to do so conflicted with my image of myself at that time. Once or twice, on soft ground, the bike fell over. It was a struggle to get it up again. Once I ran out of gas late at night; I couldn’t very well leave the bike by the side of the road, and I was far from a gas station. So I pushed. While pushing up a long, steep hill, I had to lean into the bike and move it little more than 20 feet at a time before breaking and resting. After the hill, it was easier, but I pushed most of the night.

That bike made me feel exceedingly hip and cool. It was very fast and powerful. Of course, by today’s standards, it was a dog with a maximum speed of only 110 or so. Who knows what its 0-to-60 statistic was? But speed wasn’t entirely the point—it was smooth, comfortable, and easy to ride. In one 24-hour period, I rode it over 1000 miles. A mythological creature. But I drove that bike for half a year only before I wrecked it as I was approaching an interstate entrance.

I still don’t know what I did. I was going maybe 50, my attention wavered, and then I simply drove off a gentle curve in the road. “Ride it out,” I thought. But the bike hit the ditch, went sideways, and down and over. I was hurled off. My helmet had deep gouges on one side, and one of the bike’s valve covers was torn off. I was otherwise unhurt, although I had a stiff neck for a month afterwards. It all happened so fast.

I don’t know what caused this kid last week to crash. But before he crashed, the bike had almost stopped; then it violently pitched up to its right and over, its driver catapulted and flipped over onto the ditch. Mechanical failure is not likely; maybe he caught a right-side foot peg on the concrete of the curb. If so, there should be tell-tale scratches on the curb. I meant to go back and look, but I never did.

I could see him getting up, and by the time the light had turned green, two cars had stopped. Their drivers had already reached the kid and his wrecked motorcycle. He was on his feet now, standing still and maybe trying to figure out what had happened. For him too, it had all happened so fast. I wanted to stop to see if he was OK, but with the other drivers there, I figured I could do nothing more than they had already done, so I drove on to Heronswood and the Garden Conservancy-sponsored open house.

In gardens, the world is controlled. It seems nothing “happens so fast”. You know, more or less, what to expect. Time in a garden is almost time outside of time. Gardens hold the security of the past and the promise of the future. You proceed with certain thoughts or impulses, and only later are you certain where you were headed. In gardens, we overlook motorcycle wrecks, the gyrations of the stock market, and the intractability of society.

Sure, the sense of control and timelessness are an illusion. Precipitous things happen all the time in the garden. Small or large, calamity strikes: vermin, deer, disease—you name it. All damage or take plants and fruits before you can stop them or even know enough to try. Certainty and control are not assured. Plants fail to thrive or die often for reasons unknown. And there’s weather—wind, heat or cold, floods, hail. But for us, these are not life and death issues.

The gardens at Heronswood are a fine example of a controlled world that can seem outside of time. Unique patterns or combinations of plants in different stages of growth appear fixed and controlled—like three-dimensional snapshots in time. But, simultaneously, Heronswood is changing, always different, from week to week and year to year. Currently, fall is coming on, and things look a little drab; chlorophyll is breaking down and other pigments showing: some brighter, most duller. The summer composites are in full display, and a few of the small fall blooming plants such as cyclamen are showing. A few of the hydrangeas are absolutely spectacular, while others look a little faded.

It has been a treat for me to attend these open houses at Heronswood and to see the progression of the seasons through the lens of the plants at Heronswood. If you missed them this year, watch the website for coming events in spring, and enjoy your fall.

End of the day. Heronswood parking lot ringed by Douglas fir.

Giant Gunnera.

Australian tree fern at bog.

Stachyurus ‘Magpie’

Cyclamen

Crocosmia

Ferns and cyclamen.

Hydrangea aspera

Hydrangea paniculata ‘Grandiflora’

Hydrangea paniculata ‘Grandiflora’ panicle

Hydrangea macrophylla ‘Taube’

Impatiens omeiana from western China.

Phlox paniculata

Daphniphyllum macropodum subsp. himalayense leaf cluster.

Blue Aster

Fuchsia ‘Rose of Castile Improved’

Kitchen garden in morning.

King slaw hybrid cabbage

Cardoon

Teddy Bear sunflower

Heliopsis scrabra

About 35 years ago a gardening campaign called “Fall Is For Planting” began. It was okay, but just okay. Nice title, but it didn’t go anywhere, much less take you along for the ride. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great – no “wow” factor, not even a smile.

In fact, it described work.  Planting is a bit of a chore, so no point in reminding people of the labor. That was its biggest mistake. Another is its length – five syllables are two too many for a slogan or title. Finally, one should avoid using the word “fall” in an ad or slogan. There are so many negative associations with “fall”, it’s impossible to count them all. Trees fall, empires fall, grandparents fall…you get the idea.

I believe this campaign was adopted by the woody nursery industry and picked up aggressively by the Dutch bulb industry. Fall, or autumn as we here at the old bloggie prefer to call it, is an ideal planting time for many diverse cultivars. It can be called a “second spring”, or a “second summer”, since it is some of both! Keep on growing!

Let me tell you why. I was driving down the road last week – that’s Monday, August 29th – and over the radio Dunkin Donuts announced that it was “Fall” and that I should hurry on in for “Fall Cider” served piping hot, etc. Sugar water, maybe with a bit of apple and cinnamon flavoring. But “Fall”?  Summer lasts until September 23rd.

Here’s the way it happened: first came the Labor Day holiday (which I love since I was born that day). The industrial base of the Northeastern US drew people like a giant magnet and soon Labor Day became “the last holiday of summer” for working class people – which is most of us.

Then schools and colleges followed suit and late September – the actual end of summer – was replaced by the week following Labor Day. However, recently, as in the last 20 – 30 years, schools have begun in late August. Why? To get orientation out of the way, I was told, so that families may enjoy a “final” summer holiday weekend and then, theoretically the kids would knuckle down to work the following week. This convoluted explanation explains little, to me at least. Maybe, since I have no family, I shouldn’t speak much about it.

It gets better. The media began to respond to the new opportunities to distract idle youth from doing very little (they used to do farm work, but not generally for almost 100 years), to preparing for school by purchasing new gadgets and fashionable clothing. Don’t study – buy!

Plus, the retailers fell into line by ignoring the typical sweltering heat of much of the US in late August and early September and stocking silly things like Halloween costumes. God!

Football – that great Romance of Death – became extremely popular as the last century ended, resulting in hordes of people sitting indoors on perfectly wonderful days watching pre-season games, while the regular season broadcasts – both NFL and especially college began feeding on folks’ brains earlier as well over the past few decades. Now, Monday Night Football, that destroyer of many pleasant fall evenings, has new competitors such as “Thursday Night Football”.

So, what is my point? It is that ever since the beginning of humankind, we have celebrated the autumn with autumnal crops. And, recently, here in the US, the population has slowly expanded into the southern states for the two main reasons of the energy crisis and the gentleness of the climate for the elderly and soon-to-be elderly.  Why not? During summer the South may feel like a pizza oven, but during the rest of the year the climate is very pleasant. The only obstacle to gardening year ‘round is the short day. This affects some crops, such as a few temperate (Northern) annuals, but certainly not all.

Then, as I continued driving, I began to ponder how miserable the summer just ending has been, capped off recently by Irene. The record-shattering heat wave simulated a cold snap for such tender annuals as peppers and tomatoes. The heat was so intense, many plants recoiled or withdrew their metabolisms from exposure, just like they do in an unseasonable cold snap. They stop flowering, stop fruiting, stop ripening. They freeze, so to speak, wait for the heat to pass, and then resume normal growth. Only problem is that this summer, for most of the US, the extremely high heat persisted for nearly 6 weeks, dead in midsummer. This is normally when gardeners enjoy their outdoor chores, and spending time with their “second family” of garden plants. Not this year! Most folks peered out at their garden from inside what the writer Henry Miller called “the air-conditioned nightmare”.

So, we at both Heronswood and Burpee – as well as The Cook’s Garden? suggest you break out the garden tools anew; the “second summer” is in full swing and will last throughout the US until mid-October in the northern tier states (and even late October if you are on the water, as in Boston), and well into late November in the mid-South and as late as mid-December in the Deep South, including South Texas, Southern New Mexico and Arizona, and Southern California. Of course, altitude plays a big role, so I generalize about these areas at below 2-3,000 feet elevation.

Why “green autumn”? I was sitting on my porch last Sunday morning during Hurricane Irene, wondering where she was. As I waited and drank my coffee, I noticed swirling eddies of green leaves stripped by the previous night’s high winds. It was a surrealistic image: piles of fallen leaves that were perfectly green. I love the word “autumn” and so I thought “Second Summer”, which I have been preaching for years, might be conveyed more effectively by the term “Green Autumn”. It brought smiles to people’s faces, unlike the other titles and slogans, which provoked mostly quizzical looks or blank expressions.

What to do? Well, a lot. Imagine a summer-long season (three months) from early September to early November, at least where we are in Zone 6B.

First, check your soil’s health. Then, if all is good, sow or plant and expect full crops of the following:

Vegetables:

Brassicas:

Collard Greens-Georgia, (south)

Mustard-Florida Broad Leaf,(south)

Brussels Sprouts-Dimitri, (north)

Cabbage Caraflex, (north)

Cabbage Kalibos, (north)

Kale Redbor

Kale Blue Vates

Spinach:

Harmony Hybrid, Salad Fresh

Turnip:

Oasis Hybrid, Tokyo Cross Hybrid

Lettuce:

EZ Serve, Burpee Bib, Green Ice, Salad Bowl

Mesclun Mix:

Green Party Mix

Finally, there is the “dream summer”. This is what the nursery folks referred to with the 40 year old  slogan, “Fall Is for Planting”. You should consider fall as a pre-emptive spring. Plant the following for over- wintering to enjoy in both spring and summer of next year:

Garlic:

Chesnok Red, Early Italian, for spring harvest

Fruits:

Blackberry:

Triple Crown, Chester

Raspberry:

Heritage (red), Anne (yellow)

Strawberries:

Tristan, Yellow Wonder, (alpine)

Grapes:

Seedless Grape Collection, Concord

Blueberry:

Pink Lemonade, Bluejay

Ornamental Plants:

Spring Flowering Bulbs:

Tulip:

“Ice Cream” and “Insulinde”, Bulb Blend “Cool Blues”

( blue Muscary and white Tulip), Daffodils and Hyacinth.

Pansies:

Panola Sunburst, Plentifall Lavender

Ornamental Kale:

Glamour Red, Redbor

Echinacea:

Bubble Gum, Double scoop, Pomegranate

Hellebore:

Double Fantasy

Hydrangea:

Double Delight, Jogasaki, White King and Pinky-Winky

These are just the tips of the iceberg, so to speak. Dozens more worthy cultivars can be grown in the pleasant days of “green autumn”. Consult your Heronswood Catalogue or

www.heronswood.com, as well as the recent Fall 2011 Burpee Catalogue, our first in over ten years, as a response to the strong interest in fruits and vegetables over the past years. Or, of course, www.burpee.com, as well as www.cooksgarden.com

In coming days, we shall email you more culture tips and special projects you can do easily to keep your “second summer” going.

Happy Green Autumn!

As mundane as it may be, weather, and the current weather at that, always seems to be a big focus of our thoughts and lives. Now the erstwhile Hurricane Irene, officially downgraded to a tropical storm, has soaked the East Coast. All but forgotten is the previous week’s hot, wet weather during which Burpee held its final open house for 2011. Then we worried about the possibility of rain. That never materialized (during the day at least), but instead, visitors braved heat and humidity to attend.

Registration

Burpee is celebrating its 135 years in the business of breeding and selling seed. The open house commemorated this. George Ball, Burpee chairman and CEO, spoke at length about the history of the company, its founder—W. Atlee Burpee, the company’s past and present successes, and its challenges for the future.

The open house was held at Fordhook Farm (Doylestown, PA), which was Mr. Burpee’s home. It was at Fordhook Farm that Mr. Burpee conducted his original research and breeding efforts, producing such cultivars as Golden Bantam corn and Iceberg lettuce, both of which changed the way Americans thought of food (see http://www.burpee.com/gardening/content/the-legacy-of-w.-atlee-burpee/legacy.html).

In Mr. Burpee’s day, the farm was some 700 acres. The farm now is about 60 acres and includes Mr. Burpee’s home, some other original buildings, and many of the trial garden plots that he used.

Mr. Burpee’s home with (at right) tent for open house. Behind tent is the Carriage House that included Mr. Burpee’s library.

Seed cleaning barn.

Ruined springhouse.

Fordhook Farm is still very much a working farm. Many of the vegetable and flower seeds that Burpee sells are bred and tested in the greenhouses and trial plots at Fordhook. And many of the plants that will be offered for sale in the catalogues are grown and further evaluated in the various display gardens there.

To my mind, the highlight of the open house was the garden tours. Fordhook Farm is blessed with changing topography and hydrology. This creates uniquely different garden sites that range from dry and sunny to wet and shady, and allow Burpee researchers to evaluate very different kinds of plants under very different growing conditions in the relatively small area of Fordhook Farm.

The gardens include a meadow of perhaps 20 acres that in the last year has been planted with a group of rare and unusual trees, many of them conifers from Asia. This meadow is quite wet on its western edge but becomes increasingly drier as you move across it. On the margin of the meadow is a garden that is dry and sunny. It is filled with various aster-like plants, butterfly bushes, and showy grasses that all surround a large willow. In front of the Burpee house, is a dry border garden that tests plants with its harsh afternoon sun. There are also both dry and moist shaded gardens. The moist, woodland garden was quite soggy in places on Saturday (after the previous night’s rain). In it is a great collection of hellebores, which in spring are extraordinary.

Leaving the kitchen garden.

Waiting in shade of old sycamore tree before gardens tour.

Meadow with some of the new trees and the old white oak that, in the 19th century, served as the shady gathering spot or “break room” for field workers during supper (lunch).

Himalayan cedar (Cedrus deodara), a large evergreen tree that can reach 150 feet tall in its native habitat, the western Himalayas where it grows at around 7000 feet.

Happiness Garden with fish sculpture.

Cup plant (Silphium perfoliatum) that is taking over Happiness Garden.

Sunny garden in front of Burpee house, facing south.

Hydrangea paniculata cv. Limelight, west of Burpee house.

Shade garden (Heronswood East) with hellebores in foreground.

I was asked during one tour that I led about Burpee’s genetically modified plants (GMOs). Well, Burpee has none. The questioner was surprised to learn that Burpee has never produced or sold genetically modified seed or plants. There are no plans to do so. All seed that Burpee sells is developed by conventional breeding methods; these same methods, in their essence, have been used by humans to domesticate and shape plants and animals for the last 12,000 years or so.

Flower trial garden.

Battle of the titans—Burpee sunflowers.

Battle of the titans 2.

Kitchen (vegetable test) garden.

Sunflower photo station.

A side light to the garden tours was tomato-tasting and a cooking demonstration. After tasting and rating Burpee tomatoes, visitors sampled zucchini “guacamole” and a feta–watermelon concoction prepared by Burpee staff on the veranda of the Burpee house. All vegetables and fruit were grown at Fordhook. Also, a farm market stand provided fresh produce and sandwiches for purchase.

Cooking demonstration on the Burpee house veranda.

Farm market stand.

Fordhook Farm has no bee hives (though Delaware Valley College next door does). But the number of insects you see in the gardens, bees in particular but also butterflies, is really remarkable. They are everywhere; there are honey bees as well as large and small bumblebees and a variety of butterflies both showy and drab.

Butterfly bush and butterfly (and honeybee).

Now, back to weather. With the open house over (and presumably the very hot, dry weather that plagued most of the country), Burpee is looking forward to another growing season for its customers in the southern states. This is not the 10-day or 2-week Indian Summer that so characterizes fall in New England and the Upper Midwest but an almost “second summer” during which many Burpee plants will thrive. Stay tuned.

Red and yellow sunflower.

Until a few years ago, the only plant I ever had under my care was a small cactus. To be sure that it survived, I went so far as to put it in my carryon bag when I moved from New York to Wisconsin. I think that cactus lasted about 5 years until somehow it died. I don’t know why, maybe I loved it too much and overwatered it. Maybe the sunlight that it got from my apartment window was not quite enough to keep it going. Whatever the case, it was the only gardening success story that I had to share.

My career has been in illustration and design. I recently worked on a project that took every free moment I had, a challenge with two small children. When I was done with the project, I was burned out. I couldn’t focus on anything creative. While driving home one day, I passed a house that until recently had been very dull looking. It was a small 1970s tract style house with a flat roof, inexpensive windows, and faded stucco façade. I had stopped noticing it when I passed by. But this time I actually stopped the car to look at it. Seemingly overnight, it had been transformed into an absolutely fantastic house. It looks like it belongs in the countryside of Provence. The front is covered in stone and the windows are framed by age worn periwinkle colored shutters. It has a peaked roof covered with old clay tiles. Mature olive trees now line the front yard, and the garden is a collection of purple and white flowers. It is heaven. It is perfect. It completely inspired me.

I would love to be able to hire the designers who reworked that house, but I know that I cannot afford them. So after staring at my front yard for an excessive amount of time, I decided to take a shot at it myself. I have always been afraid of gardening. To be honest, I really don’t like worms and snails. I have a fear that everything I plant will die and that I will accidentally plant bulbs upside down. But the image I have of the house nearby got me to pick up the shovel and dig.

My approach has been to see the garden as a blank canvas. I decided to start with one main element, hydrangeas, and then figure it out as I go. I had pictures stuck in my head of some amazing hydrangeas that my husband took at a Heronswood Open House. Some are white and look like fireworks. One is a midnight purple and unlike anything I had seen before. Until seeing those pictures, I had not cared much for hydrangeas, but as I viewed his pictures, my attitude instantly changed.

My newfound enthusiasm for gardening comes from mixing colors and shapes together that make each other stand out. I have planted chocolate cosmos next to white roses and framed the pale green Limelight hydrangeas with cornflower blue bachelor buttons and lavender. I love adding little dots of color to jump out and break up the color scheme. I think of it as weaving colors and textures, and I am hooked.

My husband is away. My children have patiently visited nurseries with me and played in the yard while I have dug. They don’t know it yet, but tonight they are having a picnic outdoors that will allow me to keep digging into the evening.

When my husband returns, he will see a very different front yard. I am taking advantage of these days when I can plant with abandon. When he returns, I’ll be under the eye of a horticulturalist, and it will not be so easy to make mistakes. I think the mistakes are sometimes the best part. I was told once in the beginning of my design career not to take any design classes. The reason being that it was best not to learn someone else’s style. I am using this approach with our garden and having a huge amount of fun in the process.

Much has been made in the news about the heat this summer. No wonder. Nobody needs much reminding, with large swaths of the country sweltering. There’s been drought too. This weather is tough on our infrastructure and most living things—plants are no exception. How does heat affect them, and how do they adapt to it?

Different types of plants differ in their sensitivity to high temperatures. Cool-season species are more sensitive to hot weather than are warm-season species. Some plants are most affected by high daytime temperatures, others by high nighttime temperatures. High temperature affects plants throughout their development and life cycles. Depending on the type of plant and the intensity of the heat, seed germination may be slowed or inhibited entirely. And the effects of heat vary with developmental stage. At reproduction, high temperatures can suppress flower development; or if flowers are produced, they may set no seed or fruit. The rate of reproductive growth can be increased and the period for photosynthesis so shortened that the amount of sugars contributed to fruit or seed production is severely reduced, a disappointment for the gardener to be sure but a crop failure for the farmer with a few hundred acres of soybean.

Plants that live in such places as the Mojave Desert, one of the hottest and driest places on Earth, have evolved ways to help them survive extreme heat (and drought). Features such as small, waxy and/or hairy leaves help reflect high light levels and retain water, and the ability to convert carbon dioxide to sugar at night allows these plants to live and grow in such environments.

But these are exceptions. Most plants grown in North America suffer irreversible damage when high temperatures continue long enough and absolute temperatures are high enough. Plants cool themselves, but a plant’s temperature is generally only slightly above the air temperature. The principal way they do this is by transpiration (water loss mostly from leaves). In addition to transpirational cooling, plants shed heat through air circulation (wind) and direct heat radiation, neither is much help at high air temperatures.

Transpirational cooling is similar to our sweating. Water absorbed by the roots is translocated to the plant vascular system (xylem vessels) and transported to specialized pores (stomata) on plant surfaces; there it evaporates, cooling the plant as well as the surrounding air. These stomata are a remarkable evolutionary adaptation; their function is dependent on one of the many remarkable properties of water—its high surface tension, the attribute of molecularly clinging to itself. You can see water’s surface tension at work in water drops that form on nonabsorbing surfaces or in the drinking glass filled with more water than its total volume.

Stomata are at one end of a continuous column of water that reaches down to the plant roots. Water’s surface tension makes possible this water column that can be as much as 360 feet long in the tallest of the coast redwood (Sequoia sempervirens) trees. Water evaporating at the stomata, creates a negative pressure differential that “pulls” more water from the soil and moves it to the top of the plant. This is the “transpirational stream”, and it ultimately drives and controls all water movement in vascular plants.

Stomata are flanked by a pair of “guard cells” that respond to water pressure inside plants and control whether stomata are open or closed. This allows plants to breathe—exchange the carbon dioxide and oxygen used in photosynthesis and respiration—as well as cool themselves.

Plants grow best at temperatures that we find comfortable—roughly 70 to 85° F. Within this temperature range (and with adequate soil moisture), plants will thrive and efficiently shed the heat that they absorb from their surroundings. But the warmer the air, the more water evaporates; as air temperature rises, plants lose more water from stomata. On warm, sunny days, leaves can easily lose water faster than roots can absorb it. Guard cells then lose turgor pressure, the plant begins to wilt, and stomata close, effectively limiting water loss—but also limiting transpirational cooling and photosynthesis. With adequate soil-water content, these daytime water shortages are minimized by water uptake at night, driven by the negative pressure within the transpirational stream.

But under high, persistent heat and drought conditions, things get bad for most plants. If you’ve got hundreds of acres of unirrigated crops, say in west Texas this year, you’re probably in trouble. Most gardens can be watered, though, and absolute temperatures are rarely high enough to kill plants outright.

A couple of simple tips when you water: do it slowly, deeply, and regularly. Recently planted (two growing seasons or less) trees and shrubs need lots of water. Deep irrigation will ensure that water gets to the root zone, and it will promote deep root growth and development. The amount of water needed will vary with soil type, environmental conditions (air temperature, wind, sun or clouds), and how big your plants are. If you water a plant and it still appears dry or is wilted the next morning, it needs more water. Trees and shrubs can be misted during the day. This will increase ambient moisture and clean the foliage in a dusty area.

Lawns of course suffer too. I’ve always thought of hot, dry summer conditions as a good reason not to mow them. Lawns in temperate regions are often composed of bluegrasses and fescues and ryegrasses; these stop growing during hot, dry periods. But they will green up and begin growing again when temperatures cool and rain returns. If a brown, dead-looking lawn bothers you and you want a green lawn, water it. But, again, water it slowly, allowing the dry and often water-repelling soil to be wetted and the water to soak into the root zone. Don’t water sporadically but keep watering regularly throughout the hot, dry period. And don’t cut your lawn as often or as short as you might normally.

Let’s hope that the extreme heat is pretty much over for this summer. But it will be back, maybe next year, maybe the year after. One last simple suggestion: nearly everyone uses mulch in winter to protect plants from freeze–thaw cycles, frost heaving, and the like. If you’re not already using mulch in summer, it’s just as useful as in winter. Many municipalities convert their green waste to mulch and deliver the finished product for a nominal charge. Garden stores have it too, as do independent suppliers who can be found in phone books. A few inches of organic mulch in your garden and around perennials and shrubs during hot weather will inhibit soil water loss and insulate the soil so that its temperature is reduced and does not vary much.

Mid-summer—before kids start football, soccer, or whatever practice—is vacation time. And for us, it’s no different. Agree with me or not; I think California’s a great place to visit. But as with any visit, the best part often is going home again. So that’s what we did for our summer vacation.

We went to Chicago and Michigan to see people and sights. Botanical, pathological, horticultural, and gardening interests were for the most part forgotten. So please forgive or ignore the off topic, non gardening photos that follow.

Chicago skyline from Shedd Aquarium looking north.

After arriving in Chicago, the outside temperature reading in our rental car was 106° F. It’s true that this temperature was measured immediately over radiating pavement, but—whatever—it was plenty hot. Later in that evening, along Michigan Avenue, we passed an Apple store that flooded the surrounding pavement with cool air as patrons walked in and out. We stepped inside to experience it, and with the 20° or so temperature differential, it was like walking into a refrigeration unit.

Shedd Aquarium.

Amusing t-shirt in aquarium gift shop.

The next morning after watching a weather report to the effect that it would remain hot forever and never rain again, we went to the Shedd Aquarium. The Shedd currently has an exhibit of jellyfish; it ends 28 May 2012. Our past experiences with the Shedd have been that you simply walk into the aquarium, pay your fee, and see what you want to see. But be warned. Whether it was the special exhibit or not, on the Thursday we visited, we spent roughly 90 minutes in line, and the weather people were right—it was still very hot.

Jellyfish

Jellyfish

Jellyfish

Jellyfish

Jellyfish

The exhibit is worth the wait though. I know nothing about jellyfish, and watching and following little children in a crowed space, I was unable to read most of the display information. But I had come somewhat prepared, having read an account of the exhibit 2 days earlier in the Wall Street Journal. (Unfortunately, the article is available through the following link to nonsubscribers for 7 days only— http://online.wsj.com/article_email/SB10001424052702303812104576439860779713324-lMyQjAxMTAxMDAwMTEwNDEyWj.html). If you’re not a subscriber, read it while you can. That afternoon, driving east out of Chicago, it began to rain, and for us anyway, the heat broke.

Rolling on the river.

Crystal clear river.

Small small-mouth bass and river stones.

Marsh milkweed (Asclepias incarnata).

Cattails (Typha latifolia).

Eastern hemlock (Tsuga canadensis).

Cattails and white pine (Pinus strobus).

The rest of our trip was mild and pleasant. We spent our time in western lower Michigan with family and friends. One morning we took a float trip in a canoe down a shallow, crystal clear river. We figured our children (3 and 7 years old) were too young to paddle, so they sat amid ships and watched the passing scenery. By the time we were half way done, they were bored. The old school, Dickensian method of child rearing is almost certainly best for keeping children’s minds focused.

Evening at the lake.

Evening at the lake.

Evening at the lake.

Evening at the lake.

Storm clouds.

Traffic on the lake.

Nice windows and nice hydrangea.

For ourselves, we adults spent an inordinate amount of time looking at the sun going down or at nothing much at all. All in all, it was a pretty good vacation.

High above the Wabash River with night falling, it was still almost as hot and humid as it had been all the way across Missouri and Illinois. Now with the flat tire, it seemed unlikely that I’d make it the remaining 330 odd miles home that night.

As I removed the jack and straightened up, the earth moved. I blinked and looked again. It was not an effect of my inner ear adjusting from a prone to an upright position but ticks. There were hundreds of them moving from the tall grass at the side of the road and across the pavement toward the car but specifically toward me. Those that I saw were the main body; the vanguard had reached me before I saw the others and were already crawling on my clothes and body. I threw them out of the car as I found them as I drove.

Those ticks were relatively large and probably the common American dog (or eastern wood) tick (Dermacentor variabilis), but conceivably they could have been any of the other 15 tick species found in that part of the country. In the USA, there are about 80 tick species; worldwide, there are about 865.

Ticks are arachnids, as are mites, spiders, and true scorpions. Arachnids have eight legs, two body sections, and no antennae. Almost all extant arachnids are terrestrial, and almost all are carnivorous, mostly predigesting before consuming their food.

Ticks are great vectors for disease transmission; they are obligate blood feeders that require an animal host to survive and reproduce. They parasitize a variety of mammals, birds, reptiles, and some amphibians. They transmit a mix of human and other animal pathogens such as bacteria, protozoa, and viruses. Sometimes they carry and transmit more than one pathogen at a time. Of the 80 tick species in North America, 12 are associated with at least 11 discrete human diseases, both infectious and toxic.

The American dog tick carries the organism that causes Rocky Mountain spotted fever, one of the most commonly reported and most fatal tick-borne diseases in the USA. But Lyme disease is what’s on people’s minds; and for good reason–it’s the most common vector-borne illness in the USA with 29,959 reported cases in 2009. About 95% of Lyme disease cases are from 12 states (http://www.cdc.gov/lyme/stats/index.html), but Lyme disease is found in 49 states, parts of Canada, and across Europe and Asia.

Lyme disease is caused by the corkscrew-shaped bacterium Borrelia burgdorferi. It is transmitted primarily by blacklegged (or deer) tick (Ixodes scapularis) but also by some other Ixodes species. Blacklegged tick is most common in the Upper Midwest, Northeast, and mid Atlantic region. On the Pacific coast, it is the western blacklegged tick (I. pacificus) that spreads the disease.

Blacklegged tick has a 2-year life cycle (Fig. 1) that includes four stages (eggs, six-legged larvae, and eight-legged nymphs and adults) (Photo 1). In spring or early summer, the larval ticks hatch from eggs that were laid in the soil that same year in late winter or early spring; larvae attach themselves to small animals, feed, molt, and become nymphs.

After hatching and before feeding, blacklegged tick larvae are not infectious. The larvae must acquire the Lyme disease bacterium from a mammal host that acts as a reservoir of the Lyme disease bacterium, and white-footed mouse (Photo 2) is the main reservoir of that pathogen. But even after feeding, no more than 40% of them are infectious.

The nymphs rest during winter, often in white-footed mouse burrows, become active the following spring, and seek a new host. After nymphs feed, they again molt to become adults. Adults can live a year or more without feeding, but when they feed, generally on large mammals such as deer (Photo 3), they then mate and the cycle begins again with females laying eggs.

The probability of getting any tick-borne disease, especially Lyme disease, is relatively low. Ticks transmit infection only after they have attached to and fed on a host. To transmit the Lyme disease bacterium, a tick must carry the bacterium, bite, and feed on a host for more than 36 hours, generally about 2 days. The probability of acquiring Lyme disease after having been bitten is less than 2%.

Most cases of Lyme disease, though, are contracted from nymphs, largely because nymphs are so small (less than 2 mm, about the thickness of a U.S. penny) and easy to overlook. They are also most active in late spring and summer when people tend to be outdoors. Adult ticks are most active in fall, warm winter days, and early spring when outdoor activity is more limited.

The low probability of contracting a tick-borne disease is cold comfort though to anyone who’s gotten one, but there are lots of ways to reduce the chances further. It’s most effective to implement an integrated approach that involves personal protection, tick habitat modification around your yard or garden, and perhaps preemptive pesticide spraying or other methods of controlling local tick populations.

Begin with yourself though. If you’re going out where there are ticks, use tick repellents. DEET-based products will repel ticks, but they will not provide complete protection against them. Permethrin is a synthetic pyrethroid that kills ticks. EPA lists it as a potential carcinogen, but when used on clothes only, it poses little risk: it is not readily absorbed through skin and is quickly metabolized and excreted. There are a number of permethrin-based repellents on the market.

Wear light-colored clothing and long pants. Tuck pants into socks. This makes it easier to see ticks and tends to keep them from getting inside clothes. The bite of ticks is usually painless, so after being out where ticks are present, check yourself (and children and dogs) well, being mindful of the size of the tick you’re looking for and where they like to hide–hair, waistband of clothing, armpit.

Modify the area around your house or garden to make it less hospitable to ticks and their hosts. Keep your grass well mowed. Ticks don’t fly or jump but rely on catching hold of a passing host. If you have pathways through a garden or yard with overgrown bushes or shrubs, prune or remove them. Prune or remove trees to increase sunlight and air circulation. Remove ground covers and weeds that border your lawn. Woodchip or gravel walkways or barriers between a wooded area and the yard reduce tick movement. Consider locating children’s playsets within an island of woodchips.

Tick pesticides (or acaricides) are effective at reducing tick populations. In most areas where ticks are a problem, there are commercial services that will apply these. A service is probably easiest for most people, but it is possible to do it yourself. A typical program consists of spring, summer, and fall acaricide applications. Application times and frequencies can be modified as needed. Both organic and synthetic acaricides are available. Consult garden centers and/or county agricultural agents for more information.

The Lyme disease bacterium is transmitted to larval and nymphal blacklegged ticks in eastern North America mostly by white-footed mice. There is a commercial product (Damminix Tick Tube) targeting ticks associated with white-footed mice (and other small rodents) that utilizes a cardboard tube containing permethrin-impregnated cotton balls. The tubes are distributed throughout the mouse habitat (your garden and/or yard) and mice collect the cotton balls for nesting material. The permethrin then kills the tick larvae and nymphs overwintering in mouse burrows. Permethrin has essentially no effect on the mice. My understanding is that this product has shown only mixed success in reducing tick populations.

White-tailed deer is the major host of adult blacklegged ticks in eastern North America. The USDA-ARS has developed a device that treats deer with an acaricide. USDA-ARS calls this device a “4-poster”; the device consists of a bait (corn, for example) to attract deer and four paint rollers that apply an acaricide to deer while they feed. Bait can, in addition, be laced with a systemic acaricide that is not harmful to deer but kills ticks that bite them. This apparatus or its modifications is commercially available from several sources. It is probably not appropriate for a small lot but may be a good alternative to broad, nontargetted use of acaricides or drastically reducing deer populations by culling.

Finally, there are several insect-pathogenic fungi (such as Beauveria bassiana and Metarhizium anisopliae) that also parasitize ticks. Laboratory and field studies suggest these fungi may be effective in controlling nymphal blacklegged ticks. These fungi occur naturally in soil and pose minimal risk to nontarget organisms such as bees and butterflies. Commercial products that can be applied as standard pesticides are currently being developed, and these may become important options in future tick management programs.

So, did I get home that night? No. I arrived some time before dawn the next morning. During the day, I found several more ticks still clinging to me–at least one pressed close against my scalp along my hairline and one that I initially took for a scab over my ribs under an arm. None of them had bitten me.

Two-year life cycle of Ixodes scapularis. Source CDC.

Left to right—larva, nymph, and adult male and female I. scapularis. Source CDC.

White-footed mouse. Source CDC.

White-tail deer in fall (Doylestown, PA).

My initial thought was that the third Heronswood Open House for 2011 would be rained out. Saturday (16 July) at the garden began with a persistent, soaking rain. But that gradually tapered off to an intermittent drizzle, and the day finally ended warm and sunny. Some 221 attended the event.

I regularly feel a little overwhelmed by the number of different plants at Heronswood; the number is somewhere in the neighborhood of 5000 discrete entries. I have no horticultural training, and most of these plants are exotic and new to me. I have plenty of knowledge of plants (physiology, anatomy, genetics, biochemistry, taxonomy), and I have spent my working life thinking about plants and working with them in one capacity or another. But I’ve never before studied ornamentally and horticulturally important plants. My point being that every time I visit Heronswood is a learning experience.

I generally become really familiar with two or three new plants during a visit. Often it’s a plant that I’ve never noticed before that’s now in flower. Or sometimes the awareness comes as a result of being asked to identify a plant during the Open House. Such was the case with Tropaeolum speciosum, Scottish flame flower or flame nasturtium. The flower looked familiar, but with the lobed leaves, I could not place it.

Tropaeolum speciosum

Had the leaves been less deeply lobed, I might have recognized it as a “nasturtium” and been spared the embarrassment of being in the position of an expert without an authoritative answer—c’est la vie. “Nasturtium” is misleading, though; Nasturtium (or watercress) is a genus in the mustard family (Brassicaceae), and refers to the edible plants that are cultivated around the world as a leafy vegetable with reputed cancer inhibiting characteristics. Tropaeolum is entirely different, despite the common garden “nasturtium” (Tropaeolum majus). Tropaeolum now the single genus in the family Tropaeolaceae, though that was not always so; there are lots of old, discarded genus names in the family that taxonomist call “illegitimate, superfluous”. There are about 80 species in the family in addition to T. speciosum. These plants are native to Central and South America; Scottish flame flower arose in Chile.

My other find was Alangium platanifolium; this one was by luck. This is a small tree or large shrub native to East Asia, often with multiple trunks. It does well as an understory plant or at margin of a woodland garden, which is where this one is growing. The leaves light green and shaped, roughly, like a sycamore leaf (hence the specific name, platanifolium) or maybe more like a maple. As with a maple, the leaves turn yellow in fall. It will grow to be 10 feet tall and 5 feet wide in 10 years and is hardy to USDA zone 7. Some authorities place the tree in the family Alangiaceae, but USDA Germplasm Resources Information Network assigns it to Cornaceae, the dogwood family.

Alangium platanifolium

Alangium platanifolium

The tree itself is pretty enough, but it is the flowers that attracted me. They are unusual and apparently fragrant. They are cream colored and appear during summer. As seen in the photos, on this tree, they have not yet opened. But what I take to be petals without sepals roll back to reveal multiple stamens ringing a solitary pistil. Flowers later produce a pendulous, oval fruit that becomes light blue as fall color develops. It would make a great addition to any woodland garden.

Alangium platanifolium

Alangium platanifolium

Alangium platanifolium

During the Open House, the garden, despite but probably also because of the rain, was lovely. It will be just as lovely at the last Open House of the year on 10 September. Come see it.

Veronicastrum virginicum

Acer palmatum ‘Shindeshojo’

Lichen on Maple

Acer pseudosieboidianum

Thalictrum delavayi

Geranium himalayense

Fagus sylvatica ‘Pendula’ Weeping Beech

Fagus sylvatica ‘Pendula’ Weeping Beech

Pseudotsuga menziesii (Douglas Fir) ‘Graceful Grace’

Pseudotsuga menziesii on the left and at front right is Taxodium distichum (Bald Cypress) ‘Cascade Falls’

Taxodium distichum ‘Cascade Falls’ with Seed House roof

Another view

‘Graceful Grace’ again

Pinus parviflora ‘Glauca Nana’, a rare cultivar of Japanese White Pine

Pinus parviflora ‘Glauca Nana’, closer view

Picea orientalis ‘Skylands’, unusual cultivar of Caucasian or Oriental Spruce

Especially handsome is Chamaecyparis obtusa ‘Confucius’, a rare cultivar of the Hinoki False Cypress

Opposite view of Chamaecyparis obtusa ‘Confucius’

Close-up of Chamaecyparis obtusa ‘Confucius’

Picea orientalis Skylands

Close-up of Picea orientalis Skylands

Cedrus deodara (Himalayan Cedar)

Opposite view of Cedrus deodara

Cedrus deodara with ‘Weeds’ by Steve Tobin

Dramatic angle of Cedrus deodara

Here is Chamaecyparis obtusa ‘Crippsii’, another cultivar of Hinoki Cypress. Isn’t she lovely?

Picea orientalis ‘Aurea Spicata’, a rare cultivar of Oriental Spruce. The name means “golden spiked or tipped”, referring to its unusual color.

Closer view of Picea orientalis ‘Aurea Spicata’

Picea orientalis ‘Aurea Spicata’ closer still

Chamaecyparis obtusa ‘Split Rock’ another Hinoki Cypress. What a beauty!

Close up of Chamaecyparis obtusa ‘Split Rock’

Cryptomeria japonica ‘Black Dragon’, a rare, visually piquant cultivar of Japanese Cedar. Form, color, shape, unique features—‘Black Dragon’ has it all. Very memorable.

Cryptomeria japonica ‘Black Dragon’ close up. I think of this as “the anchovy of rare conifers”.

Here is Picea engelmannii ‘Hoodie’, an odd little bird. Behind are from left to right Pinus densiflora ‘Soft Green’ and Abies nordmanniana.

Picea engelmannii ‘Hoodie’ again, but at a 90% angle from the previous photo, with Abies nordmaniana. Folks make flat-top guitar tops out of the wood of this species, but certainly not this rare and charming cultivar.

Same in a moody light.

Pinus pumila ‘Yes Alpina’ Siberian Dwarf Pine with Pinus (back left), Cedrus atlantica ‘Fastigiata’ Atlas Cedar next to it and Chamaecyparis obtusa ‘Pygmaea Aurescens’ Hinoki False Cypress in the middle.

I love this photo. The tree is the fairly common Silver Willow in a somewhat rare semi-dwarf cultivar form. It has been with us for almost 12 years, since it was small. It is Salix alba‘Sericea’, erupting from the center of the Happiness Garden, our full sun perennial plant and shrub display area.

At the southeast corner of the Fordhook parking lot grow these three rare conifers: Juniper chinensis ‘Mac’s Golden’ Chinese Juniper, Picea abies ‘Pendula’ Weeping Norway Spruce and the very large Cedrus deodara.

Closer up and with parking lot cropped out.

Focus on Juniper chinensis ‘Mac’s Golden’.

Pinus thunbergii ‘Thunderhead’ a remarkable habit that is very rare in a spruce.

Close up Pinus bungeana—strong character. Also called Lacebark Pine. That is Tobin’s ‘Sprouts’, and Tobin’s first bronze root sculpture in the faint background.

Closer still.

It is a bit strange that a few folks think the sculpture is weird. This, too, was Picea pungens ‘Pendula’ selected and tenderly cared for—crafted in a sense—to perfection by its breeder. How odd is this? Very!

But no more odd than this, which reminds me of an alien in a cheap sci-fi movie. In other words, I really love it. Behind Picea pungens ‘Pendula’.

Taxodium distichum ‘Cascade Falls’ close up. Exotically beautiful.

A close-up of Taxodium distichum ‘Cascade Falls’. Beyond words!

Ditto

Taxodium distichum ‘Cascade Falls’ in close-up.