Wordless Tulip Tree Weekend

Scrub Pine Bonsai

Pines have deep meaning for me.  Pinus ponderosa has sustained parts of three generations of my family, and I have long revered its steadfast nature in 110°F and -40°F weather.  When I moved to Maryland, I was comforted by its close kin, Pinus taeda.  I did not appreciate the unrelated Virginia scrub pine, Pinus virginiana nearly as much.  It seems to be confused, twisted, and unwilling to grow straight, strong trunks.  Even so, there is one tall specimen along the Baltimore-Washington Parkway that I have enjoyed on thousands of commutes of my 20 years working at the U.S. National Arboretum.  It is unusually tall and straight with a nicely formed canopy.

Ecologically, Pinus virginiana is a pioneer.  It comes into infertile land and grows in really bad soil thanks to its association with mycorrhizae.  It is programmed to fail in heavy snow and ice, and as time goes on, climax species like oaks and beech replace it.  It's wood is not often used since it has so many knots and defects.  I can testify to the poor quality firewood it produces; even when dry it seems to produce more soot than heat, and splitting it is an exercise in futility. 

I spent a little time during my lunch break last Friday to look at the bonsai assembled for the Bonsai Festival at the Arboretum.  This little bonsai caught my eye.  It is the first bonsai Pinus virginiana that I have seen, and I have to say that it was one of my favorites in the show.  I think the arrangement of the needles and their upright tendency give the tree a very classic feel, and the root over the rock has been done very well, as has the placement of the branches so far.  It's a baby by bonsai standards, but I think it has great potential.



A Tale of Two Glads

Sometimes things that we think are the same are really quite different.  This gladiolus, known as corn flag or Gladiolus communis ssp. byzantinus 'Cruentus' is a case in point.  Native to areas around the Mediterranean seas, it is well adapted to coexist, and even become a little weedy in wheat fields, at least before the advent of modern herbicides.  Hence the name corn flag.

It is an eye-catching blend of magenta and hot pink with white lines on the lip petals adding to the drama.  It holds its florets well in cool weather of spring, so the bottom ones are just starting to fade as the top ones are opening.  I must confess that I love gladiolus.  They come from corms, and you know how I feel about geophytes.  They bloom at the height of summer, which is my favorite time of year.  They are tall and stately, and I think they've had a bad rap with their association with funerals.  I love 'em, and I appreciate this species because it is early and because it is boldly colored and delicately constructed at the same time. 

The problem is that an inferior version has been sold around here and there.  Both are present in the National Herb Garden.  It was this wild gladiolus, one of the only species found outside the center of diversity in southern Africa, that was mentioned in Dioscorides's encyclopedic treatise on plants with medicinal value.  Below is the inferior type:

Still, it has its own beauty, and I'd bet we'd appreciate it more if the more attractive type did not exist.