Did you hear about the fungus that took a "lichen" to algae?

Lichen is everywhere we turn: rocks, tree trunks, soil and manmade surfaces like the flat, crusted lichen on the roof tiles in the photo above.  We've all seen it, and most of us know there are many varieties of lichen, but for a substance that is found on every continent on Earth--including the Antarctic--we actually know very little about it.

For instance, what do we classify lichens as?  What category, family, species?  During a recent hiking expedition with friends, the debate began as soon as we took a breather against a pile of lichen-covered boulders.

"It's a fungus," ventured one of us.  Another disagreed, declaring it more of an algae-like substance.  Turns out they're both right.  When a fungus pairs with algae (most commonly green algae) or cyanobacterium (also known as blue-green algae) the result is a dynamic duo (AKA lichen), relying on nature's "buddy system" of symbiosis--each organism helping the other to mutual benefit.  Fungus provides the moist, nutrient-rich substrata for the algae to anchor to, while algae has the ability to photosynthesize, turning sunlight into valuable chemical energy that can fuel the lichen.  That's all any of us really need to survive: a place to call home and a nice meal, right?

There are four basic lichen types (think body types for lichens): foliose lichens are the ultra-skinny supermodels of the lichen world: two-dimensional leaf-like waifs, while Fruticose lichens are pendulous, three dimensional, and a bit sloppy looking, lacking distinguishable upper and lower surfaces.  Crustose lichens form a crust over their substrates, like rocks, trees, and sidewalks. The lower surface of crustose lichens attach firmly to many surfaces and form brightly colored patches of a thick, rough naturalized texture.  Kind of like a person with a bad skin condition.  And then there's Squamulose lichens, which can't decide exactly what to look like, so they take a few characteristics of both foliose and crustose growth forms. Their shape is scale-like, and they attach by the lower surface like tiny shingles.

Okay, so now that we know what lichens are made of, and what most of them look like, why do we actually need to know it?  I mean, honestly, do lichens really DO much that helps us?  You may be surprised.  I know that I was.  First, and perhaps foremost, lichens have the ability to "fix" atmospheric nitrogen (kind of like bean plants do in soil), which allows the vital chemical element to reach other plant life.  When it rains, nitrogen is leached from both living and dead lichens and is available to plant life in the immediate areas. When lichens die, they contribute decayed organic matter to the area they inhabited, which enables mosses and seeds from vascular plants to begin developing among the pockets of new soil.  Cool cycle-of-life stuff.  Maybe not worthy of the Lion King's "Mufasa speech," but special enough to get a quote by Thoreau: I find myself inspecting little granules as it were on the bark of trees � little shields or apothecia springing from a thallus � such is the mood of my mind � and I call it studying....

On a more practical note, lichens also contribute to the food chain (Caribou love 'em, though they aren't a tasty treat for humans), have antibiotic properties that have been used in ointments to aid healing in superficial wounds, and can be found in deodorants, laxatives, expectorants, tonics, and healing pastes. Research with lichens around the world is suggesting these organisms hold promise in the fight against certain cancers and viral infections, including HIV.

All that wonderful stuff makes me wonder what can't lichens do?  Well, contrary to popular belief, lichens growing on living things, like tree trunks, can't kill trees or other vegetation. With a few very rare exceptions, lichens are more helpful to plant life around them than harmful.  So cozy up to these composite colonizers, and be thankful they're around.  Like many of us, they need three vital things to survive: undisturbed surfaces, time and clean air (kind of like me on a lazy Sunday morning).  Be happy when you encounter lichens because it means you're in a neighborhood that's clean enough to support this amazing dual organism.

In favor of the front porch

I think the porch is one of mankind's all-time best inventions.  Although formal porches can be traced to ancient Roman and Greek civilizations, no architectural feature is as "American as apple pie" as the very place many of us eat that pie: the front porch. 

Rising in popularity in the first half of the 19th century, particularly in the decades just before the Civil War, the front porch became the gathering place for neighbors, family and friends.  Technological and social forces formed an uneasy alliance in the construction and popularity of the space: technology allowed for lightweight stick construction (as opposed to the heavy timbers used in Colonial times), and the desire to escape the very technology of an increasingly industrialized world prompted citizens to yearn for a place to commune with nature.  Behind this movement to link the American house to the American yard was landscape architect Andrew Jackson Downing, who distributed pattern books (like today's house plans) linking houses to nature through the front porch.

Within a few decades the front porch was pretty much a given to any house design, combining architectural ideas with cultural ones as cited by Davida Rochlin in The Front Porch, from Home, Sweet Home: "Nobody thought much about the front porch when most Americans had them and used them. The great American front porch was just there, open and sociable, an unassigned part of the house that belonged to everyone and no one, a place for family and friends to pass the time."

Yet change is one of the only constants in life, isn't it?  WWII signaled more than the demise of the Third Reich, threatening that oh-so-American phenomenon right outside our front doors.  Once again, technology fueled the change.  Automobiles made travel to "developments"--housing neighborhoods further from business districts--easy.  No need to while away the hours on the front porch waving to neighbors walking to and fro.  The "indoor" comforts of air conditioning and television replaced the need to seek cooler temps and company on the front porch.

Perhaps it's my personality: my love of nature, and my need to connect my present with the ideals of our nation's past, but I couldn't live in a house without a front porch.  Ironically, both the houses we now own were purchased without this vital element.  No problem for us--my talented husband designed and built the porches I enjoy every day. 

Our lake house porch is rustic.  The house, nestled in the Adirondack Mountains, reflects the elements of stone and wood, so prevalent to the area.  Split rails comprise the railing (see photo, above).  Our year-round place has history on its side.  Being more than 100 years old, the porch design had to be more traditional: Colonial posts, bead board ceiling and oversized fans keep us and our visitors cool on muggy summer afternoons (below).

The only constants are the use of plants in both places  (which soften and enhance the spaces, as well as provide the visual link to the gardens beyond the porch steps), and our flag, the vibrant symbol of American values--and the wholly American experience of the front porch. 

I'm not alone in my need to connect my "inner and outer" worlds.  Since the late 1980s, the American front porch has been undergoing a resurgence in popularity.  People miss nature, and connecting to those around them!  We want to be in our outdoor spaces, but within the confines of our man-made controls (nobody wants to stand in a flowerbed with their morning cup of coffee or chat with a neighbor while dodging the sprinkler).  The front porch provides the perfect balance, a compromise, if you will, between the divinity of the natural world, and the practicality of our everyday lives.

I suggest it's even more.  It's a place to rest, a spot to take a few precious moments to wave to passersby, or invite them up the steps for a cool drink.  It's an ideal area for green thumbs to proudly display their horticultural skills, and a perfect place for things like Fourth-of-July bunting, Halloween spider webs, and holiday lights.  It's a place to hatch plans, fondly recall good times, read a book, or just sit and think.  In our time-crunched, overbooked lives, it's a long-standing tradition that harkens back to our roots, and reminds us that the ideas and ideals of previous generations--sharing time and hospitality, enjoying nature, and saving a moment or two for contemplation--are still important today.  Let's hope this vital link endures! 

This isn't your grandma's vegetable stand

Today's vegetable stands don't just offer good tastes, they HAVE good taste--appealing to all the senses

Fanciful, fragrant garlic bunches dangle from barn rafters

 

 

Like just about everyone, I love a good veggie stand.  Just seeing and touching produce, fresh from the garden with soil still clinging, makes me smile.  And while there's something reminiscent of childhood and endless summer days associated with visiting "old school" vegetable stands, inspecting rows of cucumbers and corn lined up in bins like obedient soldiers, nowadays, customers want more.  And business owners are happy to provide it.

At Blossom Hill Farm in South Blooming Grove, New York, the organic offerings are enhanced by a "crossover" experience, designed to engage all the senses.  Staff at the organic farm focus on all aspects of garden living, encouraging customers to partake of fresh fare in an outdoor dining area, wander lush garden paths or marvel at the artful barn décor, and impressive array of floral bouquets and vegetable offerings.  And though the ambiance of Blossom Hill feels eternal, like walking through Grandma's garden, the innovation sparks a brand new era in the life of the humble veggie stand.

Among the innovations are warm baked goods and individually brewed coffee to complement the healthy vegetable brunches...and always with an eye for "living art" (see the crates overloaded with zinnias in the photo, below).

Just-baked bread and individually brewed coffee are among the offerings

 

Homegrown offerings are becoming increasingly varied as well, catering to the eclectic tastes of customers.  Shoppers can pick up the staples--radishes, beans, turnips and lettuce--but they're also offered unconventional items like hot peppers, tomatillos and green tomatoes for frying.  The expanding array of produce coupled with the whimsical quality of Blossom Hill, and places like it, prove that imagination is key to ensuring customers experience a feast for ALL the senses.

The Big Debate: separating gardening facts from fiction

Spirited conversations are the spice of life, are they not?  If you think about it, any topic is open for debate.  I've known people to hotly contest everything--from toting groceries in paper,  plastic or reusable bags (reusable gets the most votes, of course) to pet preference--usually of the cat-versus-dog variety, but I once witnessed a snake v. tarantula verbal smack down.

When viewpoints collide, even "fun" verbal volleys can get heated.  The need to "take it outside" only magnifies when the topic is landscaping.  Here, I've exploded some horticultural myths to keep your next garden gathering from turning into a dispute worthy of the upcoming Republican presidential candidate debate:

Myth #1:  It's harder to grow shrubs and flowers than grass.

This is completely true if you rely on chemical compounds and/or companies that employ such means to keep your grass artificially "green" and weed-free.  But the health of you and your neighbors (including woodland animals, birds, beneficial insects, pets, etc.) makes this approach more than merely selfish.  Pumping toxins into the earth is dangerous.  It takes more creativity to design a flowerbed, but less work in the long run.  Perennial plants come back every year with no prompting on your part, and little more than a springtime dose of organic fertilizer in order to thrive.  After that, it's simply a matter of occasional weeding, which is less time-consuming than weekly mowing.

Consider this: you may discover you have a green thumb.  I bought my property nearly 20 years ago because it only had an acre of land, and I didn't want to spend all my free time mowing the lawn.  Little did I know then that I would fall in love with the yard, and actually long to be outside, planting new types of flowers, shrubs and perennial grasses. 


Myth #2:  Breathtaking landscapes are expensive to establish and maintain.

The less patient you are, the more your landscape will cost.  As I say nearly every day of my life, gardening is a lesson in patience.  We don't plant for today, but for months and years--even generations--from now.  I know, it's an impossible concept in today's "instant gratification" mindset, but a richly layered landscape takes time.  Time not only allows plants to mature and fill in, but provides the necessary opportunity for the gardener to learn and grow.  If gardening isn't important to you, hire a landscaper to create your outdoor spaces.  But be prepared to pay for it.

If you're willing to take on a new challenge, and learn about the inner workings of the great outdoors, try your hand at plotting a flowerbed.  Start small.  Focus on a small parcel of land--even a tiny 2x4-foot space.  Look around other yards and make mental notes about the kinds of plants you prefer.  Head to the local nursery, or even a big box store, and make your selections, reading plant tags closely for size and optimal conditions (see my post from last week explaining the vital steps to take when designing an outdoor space).


Myth #3:  Only professionals can design amazing garden spaces

I'm a fan of the "homemade" garden.  Do we all have interior designers choosing our furnishings and personal stylists to help us select our wardrobes?  Of course not.  I wouldn't, even if I could afford such amenities.  Like so many other important things in life, gardening involves that oft-quoted idea of joy being found in the journey rather than the destination. 

Just like my many fashion faux pas, I've planted plenty of things that haven't thrived, or have grown out of control.  Some plantings were far too big for their surroundings; others were lost amid scurious vines that choked the delicate transplants out.  There have been times that certain flowerbeds have looked so abysmal that I've been hesitant to admit I have horticultural training.  And I've even had the good fortune of perfectly pairing plantings.  Through it all--the good, bad, and truly ugly selections I've made--I've discovered a few rules that always work.  I can't tell you why they work.  The closest I can get to an explanation is to refer to one of my professor's remarks:  "When you look at a successful landscape it just feels right."  Here are my hints for giving your garden the "it" factor:

*Always plant in odd numbers

*Curved flowerbeds flow better than straight ones

*Scattered and grouped plantings are more visually appealing than plants in a straight line

Now get out there and dig in the dirt!  You may just discover something about yourself in the process.

Garden design 101

When I was a fledgling horticultural student with little more to recommend me than a love of gardening, the NYBG professors taught me how to transplant, if you will, my enthusiasm into a practical understanding of how nature works.  They highlighted the botanical needs of plants, including what I like to call the dirty half-dozen: 6 rules of thumb essential to all aspiring green thumbs.  I keep these "rules" in mind every time I begin a new project, like the one I'm starting here (right).  Before I begin selecting which plants to put in an area, I consider the following:

1. Botanical name
2. Common name
3. Size
4. Quantity
5. Spacing
6. Conditions

Other factors come into play as well, but following these horticultural fundamentals takes me from the planning phase to implementation, making it easy to make adjustments as the garden takes shape.

Botanical name:  Why is this important?  I mean, other than impressing others with your (limited) knowledge of Latin, what possible purpose is there in knowing that a butterfly weed is known as Asclepias tuberosa?  Why not just waltz into your local nursery and ask for a butterfly weed?  Because without the proper Latin name, you just may be given a butterfly bush--Buddleia davidii.  No big deal, right?  They are both lovely plants.  Of course, if you were looking to fill a small space with just the right orange-flowered gem, you'd be mighty disappointed by the four-foot-tall, purple-flowered bush that splays across all your other perennials, blocking out their sunlight.

As if that weren't bad enough, say you are an ardent fan of the Monarch butterfly, and you intend to plant butterfly weed all along your yard to attract the lovely flutterers.  Since the Monarch's young feed exclusively on this milkweed, you are doing great environmental good by planting this vital native in your yard.  But, ooops, you've just planted butterfly bush instead.  It will draw the desired Monarchs, but not the young, who so desperately need butterfly weed in order to survive.

Common Name:  Let's face it, your friends and neighbors aren't going to know what the heck you're talking about if you tout the merits of the Calamagrostis X acutiflora you planted on the perimeter of your property.  But they may just point out how much they like your feather reed grass.  Knowing only the Latin names for plants will impede your ability to share your gardening passion with others--not to mention make you sound like a bit of a horticultural snob.

Size:  The mature height and width of a plant is vital knowledge when designing a garden.  Always read garden tags closely, determining how large each intended plant will eventually get.  The knowledge can save you a lot of work (transplanting overgrown plants five years down the road), and money (buying too many plants).  All patient gardeners remember that they plant for the future, not the present.  A flowerbed of perennials that looks sparse today will fill in beautifully in just a few short seasons.

Quantity:  As I just mentioned, this ties in with plant size.  Obviously, the larger a plant gets, the fewer you will potentially need.  Lay down too many saplings and you'll be transplanting them or cutting them down in a few years time to reduce overcrowding. 

Spacing:  There are exceptions to the size/quantity rule.  One such exception is pictured in my photo, above.  I intentionally planted the Arborvitae thuja "Green Giant" (which can grow as high as 30 feet!) and Hydrangea arborescens  (which climbs to five-foot heights) closer than recommended because I intend to shape the rapidly growing cultivars into hedges.

Conditions:  This is an area that I feel is often overlooked.  People buy plants that are totally unsuitable to an area because they fall in love with the flowers, the foliage and/or growing habit.  Many's the time I've seen people planting climbing roses on a shady trellis, only to lament the demise of the foliage, and the fact that the darn thing won't produce blooms.  Know how much sunlight and what type of light your plants need.  I have a hydrangea tree that gets a good three hours of sunlight each day, but it's morning light, which tends to be weaker than the full-on rays of the afternoon, (which would scorch it).  Learn how deeply plants should be in the ground.  I will have to "lift" my peony this autumn because as I have planted things around it over the years, it has become entrenched, and no longer produces many blooms.  Understand the content of the soil.  Some plants like more alkaline surroundings (pH value of more than 7), while others crave acidic conditions (pH below 7), and study moisture preference.  I have a hardy hibiscus (Hibiscus moscheutos) that enjoys full sunlight but likes "wet feet."  Because it's hard to find a spot like that, I discovered an "overflow" area (where rainwater drains from a pipe) in full sun, and stuck the plant there.  It couldn't be happier with the choice!

Killing plants with kindness

Plants are hardier than most of us think.  The shrubs, trees, perennials, grasses, and even annuals of today have evolved to this point by Darwinian means, and their often tender appearance can be deceiving.  Take, for instance, the humble sedum.  The "Autumn Joy," pictured above, is thriving, producing plenty of flower buds in the height of the summer heat.  The sedum's thick leaves are waxy and succulent, storing an abundance of water to be judiciously doled out to stems and roots during even the driest spells.  So if they do well without water, why not hedge our horticultural bets, and shoot a spritz from the garden hose their way every day? 

Bad idea.  Overwatering a plant that is already adept at storing it results in this (pictured below):

Yellowed leaves that drop off when a stiff breeze hits the plant.  What's worse, gardeners think that perhaps the extreme summer temps are to blame because leaves are yellowing: a sign that the plant lacks water.  True.  But yellowing and browning leaves can also be due to too much water, so err on the side of neglect and keep the hose nozzle pointed away from your sedum for a week or two.

Another problem I've noticed this summer in particular is the black spotting of Rudbeckia foliage. 
Spotted leaves on the Rudbeckia, (AKA black eyed Susan) pop up where fungal spores have overwintered and conditions are right for reinfection in the spring. Tight spacing, overhead watering and high humidity contribute to the spread of leaf spot diseases, and the very nature of these plants makes breaking the disease cycle difficult.  Fortunately, the disease doesn't interfere with blooming.  Thinning out plants should ultimately correct the problem.

To maintain proper spacing for good air circulation, actively pull volunteer seedlings that spring from the many seeds Rudbeckia produce in the fall.  Transplant them to other areas of your yard.  In the meantime, removing spent foliage will help in small plantings, since it removes spore sources, but this can be impractical due to the nature of these spreading prairie plants.

Since the spots are mainly cosmetic, this may be a wasted effort if you don’t mind spotty foliage. Many gardeners simply arrange their black eyed Susans in group plantings so the leaves are less obvious as the summer progresses.

The freshest summer veggies

Doesn't this sign say it all?  Let's face it, most of us in the Northeast want to be enjoying nature--and its bounty--right now. Our growing season is short, folks! Those in the know, know how to get the most out of our fleeting season.  Like my upstate neighbors, who not only proudly display the kitschy sign, above, but boast a garden shed full of the best that summer sunshine and showers can offer: just-picked lettuce, green beans and peppers.  It's right about this time that the cucumber and tomato plants are gearing up as well, making mid-to-late-July the start of nonstop mouth-watering season.  Look for "Early Bush" cherry tomatoes (like the ones pictured above) to mix with cukes just now ripening on the vine.  What tastes more like summer than that?

Check out this impressive array of yellow and green beans (pictured, right).  The raised beds not only make tending easier on the back, but discourage little critters from snacking on your garden goodies.  Of course the height is perfect for browsing deer seeking an all-you-can-eat salad bar, but the post-and-rail fence makes access a bit tougher (as well as spraying the perimeter of the garden with Liquid Fence).

When it comes to food-producing gardens, I admit to being fruit-and veggie-challenged.  My talents lie more in the flower-garden-designing arena.  I've been known to toss an occasional herb pot in the mix because the flowers and foliage add depth and drama to flowerbeds.  But, just like my beloved plants, I must also "grow or die," so I'm now the proud owner of six cucumber and eight pumpkin plants. 

As you can see in the photos below, they've just begun producing fruit (cucumber below, and pumpkin, bottom ).  Quite frankly, I'm delighted.  Why didn't I clear a sunny spot in my yard sooner?