A fine fir...

Just a few words about another great introduction of E. H. Wilson: the Korean fir, Abies koreana. Because of this species' strong and robust growth, many mature trees present quite the specimen, as can be seen below in this accession growing on Gymnosperm Slope of Cornell Plantations.

In addition to its wonderful form, one of its most notable features is the color of the cones as they mature--a bold blue to purple. Standing upright on the branches, the stout cones are quite a site to behold! I walk past this part of the collection on a daily basis, and frequently stop to chat with the gardener (P.S.), a great conifer enthusiast. He mentioned that this year the firs throughout the collection have produced a bumper crop of cones, far above normal.

Another characteristic of this fir (and with many others) is the silvery-white undersides of the needles. These lightly-colored bands are actually rows of stomata, the tiny pores through which gases and water are exchanged with the atmosphere (the process known as transpiration).

Unlikely pairings

Call me conservative, but I'm generally not a fan of plants with funky-colored leaves, intense variegation, or some other gauche aberration. To me, they seem better suited alongside a bunch of pink flamingos or planted within a miniature golf course.

And yet... sometimes, when you place two wild and crazy colored plants together, they just fit. It is a natural marriage. Take for instance a purple leaved smoke bush (Cotinus coggygria 'Black Velvet') and a Japanese barberry (Berberis thunbergii 'Golden Nugget') with crisp, bright green/chartreuse leaves.

Pair them together and their respective wildnesses cancel each other out, resulting in actually a nice (albeit not-so-subtle) plant combination.

A friend of mine insists on wearing plaid, paisley and stripes, and it sort of works for him, so perhaps there is something to this theory of boldness? I have a conference coming up, and I've not selected what it is I will wear during my presentation. Perhaps I'll wear something Purple and Bright Yellow?

A feeling for the organism...

Today is the birthday of Nobel laureate Barbara McClintock. Before I got to Cornell, I never knew too much about her aside from a few comments in introductory genetics and biology classes. However, once I got to this place above Cayuga's waters, the lore and legend about Barbara and her 'jumping genes' abounded. Not only was she a pioneer scientist, earning (after several decades of skepticism) the respect of colleagues the world over, but she was an inspiration to many.

Now, I'm not a geneticist, and while I understand her work on chromosomes, it doesn't really apply to my work, per se. However, she has still managed to be inspiration to me. Despite being a basic scientist, she had an acute understanding and awareness of the plants with which she worked (maize, primarily). She referred to this as "a feeling for the organism." Unfortunately, because of reductionism, I too often can encounter brilliant scientists who have no concept of how their plants act or behave (yes, I am anthropomorphicizing here). They lack the 'feeling' that guided Barbara.

In her biography*, McClintock is quoted as saying that one must understand a plant,

"how it grows, understand its parts, understand when something is going wrong with it. [An organism] isn't just a piece of plastic, it's something that is constantly being affected by the environment, constantly showing attributes or disabilities in its growth. You have to be aware of all of that... You need to know those plants well enough so that if anything changes,... you [can] look at the plant and right away you know what this damage you see is from -- something that scraped across it or something that bit it or something that the wind did."

Inspiring words, indeed.

Polygonatum biflorum

So, next time you see a tree in the woods, a blade of grass in the yard, or even a tenacious weed sprouting from the sidewalk, take a second and look at the plant. Find its place in the world, ask yourself where its roots are growing and where its branches spread; wonder about its competitors. Ponder how this thing, which cannot run away to escape a swarm of locusts, a pelting of hail, or the hot-baking sun of a summer's day, ponder how it survives.

Get a feeling for the organism.


*Keller, E. F. 1983. A feeling for the organism. The life and work of Barbara McClintock. W. H. Freeman and Company, San Francisco.

A winner of a Wilson introduction...



Ernest H. Wilson introduced a great many plants into cultivation from Asia (well over 1000), including the striking paperbark maple (Acer griseum) and the famous dove tree (Davidia involucrata) that proved to be such a toil for the great plant hunter. One of the shrubby species he collected from China in 1901 that has always captivated me is Kolkwitzia amabilis (beautybush). Stumble past this species at any time besides late May or early June, and you might mistake it for a bundle of kindling or a ratty assemblage of twigs and scrubby leaves. However, when in its full glory the species is extraordinary, producing copious pink blossoms that explode along strongly arcing branches.

I often wonder why I do not see more of this species grown, although I suppose that part of the reason is its limited seasonal appeal. It is a one-shot wonder. Those of you who have read earlier ramblings of mine will note the utter hypocrisy, for I could really care less about the common lilac, which also is limited for 50 weeks a year. Perhaps one of the reasons Kolkwitzia appeals to me is that it is on the obscure end of the plant awareness spectrum, and who doesn't want to root for the underdog?

Living on the Fringe

Within the olive family (Oleaceae) there are a number of shrubs and trees that produce showy and ornamental flowers. Some genera that may surprise you as being cousins of the olive (Olea) are the beloved Forsythia, the ubiquitous Syringa (lilac), and the lesser-known Chionanthus (fringetree). I've always been a big fan of the fringetrees, and there are two species that one might stumble upon in the temperate garden. The North American Chionanthus virginicus is more commonly grown here in the states. It billows forth a profuse cloud of aromatic, frilly white flowers in May/June, often before it produces many leaves. Chionanthus retusus blooms at about the same time, however its fleecy flowers are clustered at the branch tips coincident with lush, green foliage, which provides a nice backdrop. Both species produce purplish-black fruits later in the summer, providing a more obvious clue to their lineage. I love both, but I think I am partial to the Chinese one, as it has ornamental bark that flakes and peels with age, eventually becoming quite furrowed.

Chionanthus virginicus



















Chionanthus retusus

Social commentary...

I've kept this blog centered for the most part on trees and other plants; they are my passion. It isn't that I have little to say about other things; I've just chosen to keep this relatively focused. However, there are times that I just need to reflect on things besides plants -- or at least use plants as a segue to other issues.

I just returned from a 5-day venture in the South Bronx helping my advisor conduct a study on airborne pollution. The overall purpose of the project is to examine what (if any) impact local vegetation has on removing airborne particulates. We are tracking those tiny particles that are less than 2.5 micrometers in diameter, as they are notorious contributors to the asthma epidemic. Due to its high level of pollution, the South Bronx has one of the highest concentration of asthmatics in the US, particularly among children.

I've barely spent time in NYC, and aside from a day at New York Botanic Garden a few years ago, I've never been to the Bronx. It was certainly an experience on many levels, and many thoughts passed through my mind. For instance, I think everybody should be placed in a situation where they are clearly a distinct minority; people looked at me as if I was from Mars. Just imagine a skinny white guy wearing a button-down plaid GAP shirt, khaki shorts, and a Cornell University baseball cap, standing on 149th street equipped with a laptop and portable aerosol sampler (both powered by a car battery). I got lots of stares! Its true that in a few instances I was a bit nervous, like when several guys with a plethora of old and recent heroin tracks were oggling my gear. But for the most part, passersby were positive and they all know, through first-hand experience, just how polluted the air is.

It really bothers me that so many of these kids are born not just into poverty, but a situation where they are highly likely to develop respiratory problems. Imagine growing up in the projects:





























You have little open space to play in, and your school recess period is held on a cement pad ringed by two security fences. Perhaps it is a good thing that you don't have much of an option for exercise, as the air you would be breathing would be anything but clean.
















While perched on the roof of one of the schools, I asked myself where I would be now had this been my childhood home instead of the rural Midwest. All of the opportunities that I took for granted are simply not available to these kids. They don't have acres of woods to play in, horses to ride, a neighbor's pond to fish in. A battalion of security guards are stationed in their school, and crack addicts mingle with the kids as they wander home at day's end.

While there are some trees here and there, they are just a few and are far between. Trees are great, and do amazing things for the urban environment (among other things, they generate oxygen, mitigate the urban heat island effect, attenuate storm water, and of course are nice to look at). But, it is doubtful that they can do much with respect to airborne particulate pollution. We need to nip this problem in the bud, at the source: scrub the stuff coming out of the factory stacks, curb the car emissions, etc... Trying to put the genie back into the bottle after it has gotten out is futile.

Yet, those with the power to ameliorate the problem (i.e., policy-making politicians) don't live in places like the South Bronx, and neither does the vast majority of the population who votes them in. The view seems to be that the problem belongs to those who by the luck-of-the-draw were born there.

I think the word is apathy.