Winged warriors

The next time your life seems difficult, think of the butterfly, and you're bound to feel blessed with your human form.  I mean, really, we've got it good folks.  Once we journey  through the birth canal, our work is pretty much done--for an interminable 18 years--until we're urged out of our cozy cocoons.  Even those of us who are forced out earlier, or are more than ready to spread our wings, are slow starters when compared with our fluttering friends, who've completely changed their life form before most of us sprout our first tooth.  This lovely tribute to metamorphosis, posted on FanStory by Melissa Brown, sums up each butterfly's tough transformation:

Born just a worm, lowly and plain
crawled a caterpillar through rain
It started to eat and grow strong
for trials would find it before long.

Spinning thread inside a cocoon
to total darkness, not immune
All alone and starting to die
transformation the reason why.

The capsule shakes and starts to split
works its way out, it will not quit
Wings of beauty ready to fly
freed from prison and flying high.

Born like a worm, ugly and low
crawling around, life started slow
Growth would come and tried to be strong
Satan's darkness came before long.

Overwhelmed and wanting to die
God held onto me, He knew why
Transformed life was His perfect plan
Takes a lifetime to run the span

Free from pain and wanting to soar
Spread my wings like never before
Never look back and fly above
To the arms of my Father's love.

And that's just the beginning of their year of living dangerously.  During those 12 fleeting months of precious life, butterflies encounter: extreme climate fluctuations, including heavy rain and freezing temperatures which kill thousands of them, and multiple predators, such as wasps, snakes, toads, frogs, birds, rats--even monkeys, ants and dragonflies. 

Good news for the beloved orange and black Monarch butterfly:  because it's young derive most nutrition from the milkweed plant, which most predators despise the taste of, the Monarch is less often on the menu.  Bad news for the Monarch: deforestation, including widespread loss of the milkweed plant makes it harder to survive.  This is, in turn, bad news for humans because Monarchs pollinate plants, including some that people rely on for food, such as corn.

The solution is simple: plant milkweed in your flower and vegetable gardens.  The native Asclepias tuberosa (common name, Butterfly Weed), is a vibrant orange hue, offering a valuable shot of color to any garden.  This plant is fragrant, drought-tolerant, and thrives in full sun, or even partially sunny areas.  Don't mistake it with the also-lovely Butterfly Bush, whose graceful pannicles come in a multitude of pinks, purples, blues, and even white (Buddleia davidii).  Although the latter attracts butterflies to the garden, it won't provide the life-sustaining nutrients of the milkweed plant.  For this reason, use the Latin name at nurseries or when ordering online.  I placed my order with the reasonably priced Four Season Nursery (4seasonnurseries.com).

One clever butterfly--the Viceroy--looks exactly like the Monarch to untrained observers (which is, I bet, most of us).  This is not a chance happening.  This clever critter mimics the appearance of its more-famous cousin in order to avoid predation.  This is just one of nearly 20,000 species of butterflies in the world.  They flit through the social spectrum of all continents except Antarctica, leaving delighted viewers in their wind-walking wake.  Let's ensure their survival by planting milkweed and other butterfly attractors, like creeping thyme (Thymus p. 'Coccineus'), dill and fennel, which provide useful cooking spices--but discourage butterfly-chomping critters, who prefer their meals unseasoned.

Mistletoe: friend or foe?

I catch up with my mother each week via long-distance phone call, since she winters near St. Augustine, Florida, and I'm toughing it out amid the harsh beauty of upstate New York.  But Mother Nature throws each of us a curve every now and then, no matter what region we reside in. 

During our most recent phone conversation, my mom lamented over the discovery of mistletoe in her oak tree.  "My oak has not been growing well, and my gardener pointed out the mistletoe clinging to some of it's branches," came her worried tone.  "Do you think the mistletoe is harming the oak?"

Being only familiar with the holiday-decorating aspects of the plant, I assured her I would do a little research, and find out.  Here's what I discovered:

Mistletoe is a parasite.  Uh oh, that doesn't sound good.  Parasites are freeloaders, kind of like old Uncle Ed and Aunt Lil, who have a habit of appearing on your doorstep unannounced, and parking their bags in your spare bedroom before disclosing future plans to vacate the premises.  Don't panic!  Take a deep breath.  Mistletoe may not have been invited, but, like Uncle Ed, it's a slow mover.  And, on the positive side, with a scent like oranges, it likely smells a lot better than that old geezer.

But, also like your ancient houseguests, it can be hard to get rid of.  A native of Europe and northern Asia, it has made the long journey to these parts, and it likes it enough here to settle in comfortably.  It attaches itself to trees by a structure called haustorium (rather than roots in the soil) through which is absorbs nutrients and water from its host (a thick, juicy tree branch), and grows in a ball shape that remains green throughout cold-weather months (a telltale sign that it has taken up residence in your barren treetops).  Large trees can support this uninvited guest, but smaller ones will suffer, so it's important to cut out the mistletoe, and a few select branches.  Be careful when pruning though: if you clip more than a third of the branches, you will severely damage the tree.  Thinned branches continue to grow and strengthen trees, but not if they're all hacked off!

For free, attractive holiday decorations,  you can clip the mistletoe mass right out of the tree, and attach it to your front porch eaves with festive ribbon.  A well-known Christmas-decorating staple, I think the attractive green foliage would add pizazz to St. Patrick's Day festivities as well.  It would even welcome spring in a hale and hearty manner.  Hanging it outside (35-48 degrees is best) will preserve it all season long, enabling anyone who stands under it to partake in the ritual of kissing beneath it.  But beware, the ancients believed mistletoe held the gift of fertility.  And based on the plant's tenacious growing habit, I'm inclined to agree.

*Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

"What a Wonderful World"

For anyone who has followed my posts, there can be no doubt that I am devoted to my garden in upstate New York.  Yet, every now and then it's good to venture out into the wider world to witness nature's wonders elsewhere.  I recently took a trip to New Orleans, and was delighted by all that The Big Easy had to offer lil ole me.

In the famed French Quarter I had only to look heavenward to be rewarded with a celestial sight: flowers and foliage of every size, shape, and color arching over filigreed wrought-iron balconies.  Floral cornucopia from the gods.

As we meandered down ancient streets to the jazzy strains of brass instruments and woodwinds, I had a difficult time keeping my eyes on the road in front of me.  Only when my neck felt strained could I look away from the lushly layered buildings.

I was reminded of a trip I once took to Venice, Italy, a city similar to it's Louisiana cousin in its elevation above sea level--or lack of it (New Orleans' elevation is anywhere from 20 feet above, at it's highest point, to seven feet below at it's lowest.  Venice is even further below sea level, and when it rains, expect your ankles to get saturated).  Both Venice and New Orleans are slowly sinking.  But that's not all they have in common.  Like Venice, our Southern sister's natives can't dig more than two or three feet in the ground without the hole filling up with water, so the region's gardeners--like their European counterparts--have to get creative. 

One thing they all keep in mind is to cover the area with plants that have super shallow root systems, like the beautiful azalea plants rimming every courtyard (above).  Notice they are just starting to bloom.  Other options include choosing vegetation that really enjoy getting their "feet" wet (like the bald cypress, saw palmetto and iris of the bayou, below, right.  Check out that handsome great blue heron!).  Most annuals (in both cities)  get pedestalled (above, left).

And who, I ask you, wouldn't want to be placed in a position of such high regard in a city as unique and lovely as New Orleans?

An unlikely stunner in the summer garden

It's always around this time of year, as we're rounding the bend on St. Patrick's Day, that my holiday poinsettias start looking droopy and sad.  It's as if they know the festivities are far behind us, and they're about ready to give up the ghost of Christmas past (doesn't that line sound like a perfect "before and after" puzzle on Wheel of Fortune?).

Fortunately, my friend Marilyn from Wisconsin has shared a way for me to not only help raise the poor poinsettias' spirits, but keep them going all summer and into the fall, looking hale and hearty--in preparation for "show time" in December:

In February or early March--in other words, NOW--cut each of the old flowering stems on the plant back to 4 to 6 inches in height, leaving one to three leaves on each of the old branches.  New growth comes from buds located in the leaf axils. Cutting the plant back will cause the buds to grow and develop.  Keep the plant in a sunny window at a temperature of 60 to 70 degrees F, and water regularly, letting the soil just begin to dry out before dousing it once more. If bottom leaves wither and drop, the plant is not getting enough water.  If they turn yellow, then drop, you are overwatering.  Fertilize as needed every 2 weeks.

In late spring, well after the final frost has lifted, and evening temperatures no longer dip lower than 60 degrees F, plant poinsettias right in the ground (but here's a tip:  make it easy on yourself--and the plant's tender roots--by planting the entire pot in the ground).  Peat moss and vermiculite/perlite potting soils sold at garden centers are satisfactory, and easy to use. If you want to prepare your own growing medium, use 2 parts sterilized garden soil, 1 part peat moss and 1 part sand vermiculite, or perlite plus (which I prefer because I think it's better at attracting and sustaining water), and mix thoroughly.  Planting tip: choose a well-drained, slightly shaded spot outdoors. Remember that the plant may need to be watered more frequently than the rest of your garden. And since poinsettias are famous for being finicky, don't place them in windy spots.  They prefer to settle in a quiet place.  And since they're homebodies, place them near your foundation for protection--as well as a ready-made display case for their red, white or rosy bracts.

By mid-September, bring your poinsettia plant indoors at night to avoid chilling injury (this occurs when temperatures are below 45 degrees F for an extended period). The poinsettia can be placed back outdoors in the daytime when temperatures are warm enough, or keep it in a sunny window. Fertilize every 2 weeks.  To reflower your poinsettia, you must keep the plant in complete darkness between 5 p.m. and 8 a.m. daily from the end of September until color shows in the bracts (early to mid-December). The temperature should remain between 60 and 70 degrees F. Night temperatures above 70 to 75 degrees F may delay or prevent flowering. If you follow this procedure the poinsettia will be in full bloom by Christmas.