I keep forgetting the name of a plant I added to the garden some time ago, and every year I have to dig through my pile of old plant tags to remind myself. Any mnemonic devices to help me hold Ledebouria cooperi in my head? Any tips on keeping it growing well? How can I propagate it?
There are some common names that might guide you to the scientific name: Cooper’s false squill (it used to be named Scilla cooperi), Cooper’s African hyacinth, and Zebra’s quill (which evokes those delicately veined or striped leaves).
The genus is named for German botanist Carl Friedrich van Ledebour (1785-1851). The species name was given by Joseph Dalton Hooker to honor English botanist Thomas Cooper (1815-1913), who collected plants in South Africa’s Drakensberg mountains in the mid-nineteenth century.
The Pacific Bulb Society says this bulbous plant of damp eastern South African grasslands will grow well with its bulbs exposed or unexposed. It would thrive in a rock garden, growing in a wall niche, a container, or at the front of a border. According to Missouri Botanical Garden, it prefers well-drained but moist soil during active growth (but dislikes winter saturation which can rot the plant). It can be propagated by division, which is easiest to do when it is visible, not when it is dormant.
Many years ago when I was in training on a military base in Nevada, our commander ordered us to spray herbicide over a large area that was covered in beautiful wildflowers. They had bluish leaves and yellow poppy-like blooms. I wish I’d had the wherewithal to refuse the order, but disobeying would have been problematic. I’m curious what the name of the plant is, and what its current status might be.
The plant you are describing is the Las Vegas bearpoppy, Arctomecon californica. Despite the species name, it is not native to California, but instead to the southern Nevada and the eastern Mojave Desert, where it has largely disappeared. The common name, bearpoppy, describes its fuzzy bear-paw shaped leaves.
Its current status is ‘critically endangered.’ In 2019, the Center for Biological Diversity petitioned for Endangered Species Act protection for the wildflower. By 2020, the Center reported that “Las Vegas bearpoppy, in southern Nevada, is experiencing a dramatic, ongoing loss of habitat due to urban sprawl and mining.”
You can learn more about the flower (including its relationship with pollinators, especially the Mojave poppy bee) in the full text of the petition to list it as endangered.
Someone suggested that I could use diatomaceous earth to get rid of slugs in the garden. Is this a good idea? Any drawbacks I should consider?
First, here is a definition of what diatomaceous earth is, from the National Pesticide Information Center: “Diatomaceous earth is made from the remains of diatoms, which are tiny organisms that lived in rivers, streams, lakes and oceans. Diatom skeletons are made up of silicon dioxide, a combination of silica and oxygen. Silica is very common in nature and it makes up 26% of the earth’s crust. Diatomaceous earth is very abrasive to an insect’s exoskeleton, causing them to dry out and die.”
Slugs are not killed by diatomaceous earth, though it may slow them down. It is mainly used to control insects with hard exoskeletons. According to the book Mason Bee Revolution (Dave Hunter and Jill Lightner, Skipstone Press, 2016), the abrasive dust can damage the bodies of butterflies, spiders, and some bees by causing severe dehydration; it can also kill beneficial hard-shelled bugs. It is considered a relatively low toxicity method of pest control, usually sold as a dust. However, it is not entirely risk-free: wearing a respirator is recommended. Prolonged exposure can cause serious problems like silicosis).
Using submerged saucers of beer will take care of slugs without adverse consequences for non-target species. A potential alternative slug and snail control method that has yet to be researched thoroughly is using wool as a compost or in pelletized form. Excerpt: “Wool may also be included in mulch or mats where it has been shown to reduce predation by slugs and snails, eliminate weed growth, and reduce soil temperature variation.”
I saw this plant while visiting a friend in Florida. What is it? Can I grow it in Seattle?
This is Neomarica gracilis, a plant in the iris family that is also called walking iris or apostle plant. The common name ‘walking iris’ derives from the way the plant propagates itself: as stems mature, they bend to the ground and take root (when humans propagate plants by doing this intentionally, it is called ‘layering’). The name ‘apostle plant’ refers to anecdotal observations that Neomarica will not flower until it has produced at least twelve leaves.
It is not likely to thrive in the Pacific Northwest; its native range is from Mexico and Costa Rica south to Brazil. Pacific Bulb Society lists it and other species, for adventurous gardeners who are eager to grow plants that stretch beyond our hardiness zone. Local botanist and gardener Sami Gray has this to report: “It’s a tender semitropical, so here it’s a house plant. It did well enough for me for years, then I despaired of getting it to bloom when I was looking: the flowers are very short-lived.” Daniel Sparler mentions growing a different species, Neomarica caerulea, in this Northwest Horticultural Society article: “When the mood strikes it, from tall, elegant lance-shaped foliage emerges a blossom stalk with a dozen or so coy buds that suddenly burst forth one fine morning with the most captivating purple-blue flags and falls that open to reveal intricate, internal ivory and chocolate striations. Although individual flowers last only a few hours before swooning, up to six may open at once on the same stalk.”
I was browsing a 1965 book on the plants of Hawai’i and found an old magazine clipping inside about the vanishing of sandalwood from the islands. It described native Hawaiians cutting sandalwood trees to fill pits in the earth dug deep as the hold of a ship. Is it true that sandalwood has disappeared from Hawai’i?
When the first people arrived in Hawai’i by canoe, Sandalwood (Santalum freycinetianum and other species, or ‘iliahi, the Hawaiian name for the tree) grew abundantly. They found medicinal and other practical uses for the tree, including using the pulverized wood to scent bark cloth used for clothing and bedding.
With the late 18th century arrival of explorers like American sea captain John Kendrick and Captain James Cook of England came the exploitation of the islands’ natural resources. The intensification of trade in sandalwood altered the Hawaiian way of life. Recognizing that there was value in this trade, King Kamehameha I was unwittingly complicit in altering “the production-for-use economy into a production-for-profit economy.” He sent his subordinates to order common people to collect sandalwood in the hills and, as the article you found describes, they cut trees in a volume large enough to fill a ship. The measuring pits even had a local name: lua na moku ‘iliahi . As a consequence of years of unpaid hard labor, people began to rip out young trees in the hopes that their children might escape enslavement to the sandalwood trade. By 1840, trade dwindled.
From an eyewitness account:
“On one occasion we saw nearly two thousand persons, laden with fagots of sandalwood, coming down from the mountains to deposit their burthens in the royal store houses, and then depart to their homes–wearied with their unpaid labors, yet unmurmuring in their bondage. In fact, the condition of the common people is that of slaves; they hold nothing which may not be taken from them by the strong hand of arbitrary power, whether exercised by the sovereign or a petty chief.” -April 18, 1822
Source:
James Montgomery, ed., Journal of Voyages and Travels by the Rev. Daniel Tyerman and George Bennet, Esq. 2 Vols. (London: F. Westley & A.H. Davis, 1881) I:415.
There have been attempts over the decades to restore the population of sandalwood, but most efforts failed until the 1990s, when Mark Hanson collected seeds of native sandalwood and other native tree species, and began the Hawaiian Reforestation Program. His efforts are ongoing. The trees remain vulnerable (due to land-clearing to raise cattle, and harvesting for use in essential oils and incense), and are listed as endangered on the IUCN Red List.
My book club is reading Robin Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass. Do you know anywhere I could go to smell and see the plant? Might some be planted outside the Burke Museum, or at the Center for Urban Horticulture? What are local native uses of the plant?
[from The Grasses of British Columbia by William A. Hubbard] Photo: illustration by Frank L. Beebe
In the context of Robin Wall Kimmerer’s book, sweetgrass probably refers to the plant whose scientific name is Hierochloe odorata. It grows in limited locations in Washington State. We do not have it here at the Center for Urban Horticulture. It is unlikely to have been planted around the Burke Museum, given its preference for marshy areas. Most of their plantings are at the edges of the parking lot. However, you could call and ask. You might be able to smell sweetgrass in woven items made from the plant, though the fragrance might not be as intense as the odor of the living plants.
The trouble with common names is that they may refer to different plants (not only a different species, but even a different genus and family), depending on what region of the world one inhabits. Kimmerer, who lives in Syracuse, New York, is a member of the Potawatomi tribe. The name she uses for sweetgrass is wiingashk ᐐᓐᑲᔥᒃ᙮, which is Ojibwe, a language that is linguistically similar to Potawatomi.
To give just one example of the potential for confusion, there is a Pacific Northwest ‘sweetgrass’ used by basket weavers on the Olympic Peninsula which is Schoenoplectus pungens, also called chairmaker’s clubrush or common three square, an entirely different genus in the sedge family (not in the grass family). The book does not mention its use for incense or fragrance, but the species name (pungens) does suggest it has an aroma, though possibly a sharp but not a sweet one. [source: From the Hands of a Weaver: Olympic Peninsula Basketry through Time, University of Oklahoma Press, 2012]
Examples of Hierochloe odorata’s use in the Pacific Northwest:
The Okanagan-Colville tribe has a tradition of storing the braided blades among clothing, to lend a pleasant fragrance.
I am wondering if Diabolo ninebark is a native to the Pacific Northwest. I know it is a hybrid.
There are several components to consider here. Physocarpus opulifolius ‘Diabolo’ is a cultivar (a cultivated variety, selectively bred for certain characteristics that differ from the plain species) of a ninebark species that is native to eastern North America. A hybrid is produced through sexual reproduction between plants of two different species or varieties, either in the wild or in cultivation. This blog post describes some potential ramifications of using ‘nativars’ (quasi-native plants) such as ‘Diabolo.’ Cultivars are not natives, but that isn’t necessarily a reason to exclude them from your garden. This link provides clear explanations, excerpted here:
“When the native plants in our yards are locally-sourced and locally-adapted, their DNA can make a positive contribution to the survival of wild plant populations. The adaptive genetic diversity they share is important because it allows native species to persist despite the rapidly changing conditions of our modern environment. […]
“When the plants in our yards are cultivars of native species, their genetic makeup is the result of artificial rather than natural selection and they possess little genetic diversity. The offspring of cultivars crossed with native plants are called hybrids. […] Once the DNA from cultivars of native plants makes it into wild populations, there is no way to dispose of it. The new DNA affects the ability of wild native plants to survive and has ramifications for all the species that interact with the native plant as well. Studies have shown that, in some cases, cross-pollination with cultivated varieties resulted in the loss of the wild relative. […]
“Sterile cultivars of native plants are benign, they can’t cross-pollinate with their wild relatives, so they pose no risk to wild plant populations. When cultivars are beneficial to ecosystems, they are good. For example, plant breeders are working to create disease-resistant cultivars of native tree species that have been hit hard by non-native invasive plant pathogens. If done with care, it is possible that such cultivars could be used to intentionally spread beneficial DNA into wild plant populations and help restore those species. […]
“When cultivars are harmful to ecosystems, we must ask whether the benefit to people outweighs the risk to native plant species and pollinator populations. Cultivars of plants aren’t just bred for ornamental use, but for food and medicinal value as well.”
If you want to grow a species of ninebark that is native to the Pacific Northwest, consider Physocarpus capitatus.
Can you confirm the identity of this plant growing on the northeastern coast of Brazil? I’m told it is called batata-da-praia, or batata-do-mar (beach or sea potato). Does that mean it’s edible?
This is Ipomoea pes-caprae, probably the subspecies brasiliensis, given the location. It is pantropical, found along the beaches of the tropical regions of the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans. (It produces air-filled seed capsules that float and drift in water, contributing to its wide distribution.)
Common names in English include railroad vine (referring to the ‘tracks’ created by its stoloniferous habit of spreading along the ground’s surface, sometimes over 100 feet), goat’s foot (translation of the botanical species name, given for the hoof-like leaf shape), beach morning glory (since it is in the morning glory family, Convolvulaceae), and beach hops (because of the vining habit).
Cooked roots, stems, and leaves have been eaten in small quantities as a famine food, and it has a history of medicinal uses. However, it is not a major food source like its cousin, the sweet potato (Ipomoea batatas). Toxic Plants of North America (Burrows & Tyrl, 2013) considers this species of Ipomoea to be of toxicological concern.
A client, who planted a small Liriope “lawn” heard from a different landscape professional that this plant does poorly in our climate because we don’t have enough summer humidity. I haven’t used it a lot in my designs, and haven’t grown it in my own yard, but have considered it a tough and versatile plant. Is it true it does poorly here? (Why have I not heard this before?)
They used small plants for their lawn. I’ve suggested they give it two years since I think it is an interesting idea. We all realize it won’t take the kind of foot traffic regular turf will take. What do you think?
My personal experience with Liriope is not altogether positive. It pokes along in partial shade in my garden, looking rather ratty most of the time. It may be that I don’t provide it with enough water to make it happy. It’s hard to say, based on one person’s garden, whether the same will hold true in other soils, and other light and irrigation patterns. I don’t see it planted in large public spaces, or even in large quantity in home gardens in our area. And I agree with you, it’s not a turf substitute–its common name ‘lilyturf’ is a misnomer, as it’s not a lily and neither is it a turf plant.
Missouri Botanical Garden’s information about two commonly grown species suggests it does well in the South (where it’s humid in summer).
Liriope is included in Perennials: The Gardener’s Reference by local authors Susan Carter, Carrie Becker, and Bob Lilly (Timber Press, 2007). There are several species. Liriope muscari forms clumps a foot and a half wide; Liriope spicata “spreads rapidly by underground stems and will cover a wide area; it is therefore not suitable for edging but is excellent for groundcover.” It grows 8-12 inches tall by a possibly infinite spread, meaning it can be aggressive if the conditions are right. The authors say all Liriope flowers best in sun, and prefers moist, well-drained soil though it may be drought-tolerant once established. “Ragged with neglect” accurately describes the way my own plants look, so perhaps I’m just negligent. The authors say it may be cut back to the ground in spring before new growth begins, but “if there’s no winter damage, do not cut back.”
I keep forgetting the name of a plant I added to the garden some time ago, and every year I have to dig through my pile of old plant tags to remind myself. Any mnemonic devices to help me hold Ledebouria cooperi in my head? Any tips on keeping it growing well? How can I propagate it?
I saw this plant while visiting a friend in Florida. What is it? Can I grow it in Seattle?
