TREE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

I don't know what it says about me exactly, but for some reason I always seem to end up living next to a graveyard. Granted cemeteries aren't so rare that most people haven't lived close to one at some point in their lives, but so far every place I've called home has either been directly next to, or just down the street from a big graveyard. Even my ol' homestead was just a minute walk from a massive cemetery that you could get lost in if you didn't know where you were going.


Don't let the pretty Sugar Maples fool you....

As any rational kid would conclude, my family would be the first to get munched on in the inevitable zombie apocalypse. I used to lie awake at night planning the best escape route should a hungry horde of 'em finally burst through the door.... the rest of my family was on their own (that's what you get for sticking me in the bedroom next to the basement), anyway I digress.

In addition to giving me way too many vivid nightmares and an overly intense fear of death, this proximity has made me extra observant when it comes to the character of these places. There's one particularly forlorn graveyard that I pass by on my bike ride to work that has recently caught my attention. As with most small city spaces the... aaah, uuuum... occupants? are packed in way too close for comfort, leaving basically zero room for your typical graveyard trees. The few decent sized trees that have managed to eek out an existence are relegated to the edges of the lot, squeezing themselves into the few far away corners where the weed-whackers and road salt can't reach. Which brings me to the most prominent feature of the graveyard..... a real life zombie!!!!!


The "zombie" (and no, I'm not talking about the old guy on the sidewalk, but the dead American Elm, Ulmus americana he's standing next to. Sorry old guy)

Unfortunately, the tree zombie apocalypse seems to already be here, and its putting many of the recent undead themed blockbusters to shame. More and more of our native species seem to be entering some sort of disease induced twilight existence; while not entirely extinct, they haunt their former ranges as mere shadows of their former selves. While everybody seems to know the story of the American Elm (Ulmus americana), there's also the American Chestnut (Castanea dentata), Butternut (Juglans cinerea), our native Ashes (Fraxinus spp.), our native Hemlocks (Tsuga spp.), Flowering Dogwood (Cornus florida), as well as many of our Viburnums (Viburnum spp.) and yes I know they're not trees but I wanted to include them anyway. There are many, many more that I could easily add to this list, but I figured it was depressing enough already.


THE (once) dominant tree species of the northeast (the American Chestnut, Castanea dentata) is now reduce to nothing more than the occasional root sucker.

Those trees species that manage to escape total devastation are often still faced with the persistent threat of exotic pest and disease. The biggest and most recent of these (that has gotten a lot of press coverage and for good reason) is the Asian Longhorned Beetle that has the potential to devastate nearly all U.S. hardwood populations. In addition to potential threats there are plenty of exotic genus specific diseases that while may not be as devastating as some, often contribute to the overall declined of what would otherwise be a healthy tree. Even our native Beech (Fagus grandiflora) is faced with an exotic pest that destroys the most distinguishable and beautiful feature about them, turning their smooth bark into a festering cankerous mess.


Beech Bark Disease - IT'S ALREADY HAPPENING!!!

And of course, the source of nearly all of these diseases (or at least the source of their introduction to North America) are anthropogenic (a.k.a. us dumb people and usually associated with my profession, landscape architecture). The alarming maps charting the rapid spread of these epidemics could easily stand in for any scary, scientificky looking graphic in afore mentioned blockbusters.


Emerald Ash Borer Spread (2011)

But all hope is not lost, or at least not completely. In a few of these instances the source of many of these species destruction is also the source of their salvation, or at least sort of. In the case of the American Elm, American Chestnut, and Flowering Dogwood, they all have fairly closely related Asian and/or European counterparts (Ulmus parviflora, Castanea mollissima, and Cornus kousa to name a few) where many of these diseases are endemic, thus offering a genetic source of disease resistance that is being breed into our native species in an attempt to give them at least some fighting chance (while also corrupting the genetic integrity of the species, but hey, what you gonna do...). In addition to these efforts, our native population of both American Elms and Flowering Dogwoods have produced disease resistant individuals that are now available in the trade (Ulmus americana 'Valley Forge' and Cornus florida 'Appalachian Spring'). So all hope is not lost. You can even observe this first hand. For example, anyone who gardens next to or around an American Elm (before they are inevitably killed by Dutch elm disease) knows that they are prolific seeders. The shear number of seedlings trees produce provides some hope that eventually at least some small portion of these seedlings will develop greater and greater resistance with each passing generation.


Next time your walking around any old northeast town or city take a look in the nearest abandoned lot. You'll be sure to find at least a few young American Elms, maybe even some decent sized trees.

In an effort to help stop the spread of these and other diseases that have the potential to completely wipe out our native forests, plant resistant varieties and be wary of newly introduced exotic species that are closely related to our natives as these could be harbingers of the next dutch-elm disease (a.k.a tree zombie apocalypse). Also do your best when purchasing natives to avoid importing from areas that are heavily infested. People zombies might be science fiction, but tree zombies are science fact. They might not eat your brains but the actual impacts can be pretty damn sad. Consider the film below and do your best to keep the next tree zombie apocalypse from happening.

APPPLES BE SLUTTY

A brief 15 minute sampling of wild crabapples growing at the property where I garden.

Now that apple picking season is upon us I think it's time someone stepped up to the plate and called out the darlings of autumn as the slutty ho-bags (I checked the urban dictionary, and yes, its hyphenated) they truly are... Jk. Kind of.

The genus Malus (to which all apples belong) is notoriously promiscuous and will produce fertile offspring with nearly any other individual, regardless of species. This indiscriminate reproductive attitude lends apples not only an amazing adaptability, but a crazy amount of phenotypic diversity that boggles the mind. My state (MA) has no endemic species (at least as far back as the last ice age anyway). The closest North American native Malus is M. coronaria (Sweet Crabapple) with a range centered in the southern Great Lakes region and only extending as far east as New York. Yet, go to any abandoned field in the northeast and you're bound to find at least a few "wild" apples growing happily amongst the usual palette of successive species (the property where I garden being no exception). After doing a little crabapple recon for about 15 minutes I was able to find 5 trees of drastically different shapes and sizes with the fruit to match; Reds and yellows, shiny and dull, large and small... Keep in mind this was without even trying to find contrasting individuals, simply no 2 were alike.



Various Malus on the property. In addition to fruit and tree habbit, leaf shape and size also showed a huge amount of variability. Some looked exactly like those you'd find on orchard trees (sans lobes and kind of large) and others looking very much like those of Hawthorn (multiple lobes and kind of small).



Crabby bounty.


Our centuries old love affair with apples in the northeast has given rise to what I've affectionately referred to in previous posts as Malus x intermedia, a genetic conglomeration of at least 6 contributioning species (probably more) from around the globe including M. sylvestris, M. hupehensis, M. pumila, M. sargentii, M. ioensis, M. sieboldii, and maybe a bit of M. coronaria as well. While these small trees have the potential to displace other flowering natives like Amelanchier, in their defense they are not particularly aggressive and have quite a bit of ecological/wildlife value. Despite the trees status as a foreign invader, it's a bit mind-blowing to consider the future of this interspecific mess as it continues to grow and evolve in the region. Will it maintain it's diversity of forms and shapes as new genetics are continually added into the gene pool or will certain traits win out as the ?species? competes for real estate in its "new" environment. While these scenarios will be playing out long after I'm gone, its awe-inspiring to consider I might be witnessing the birth of a new, unique species.

With that said, the promiscuity and fertility that characterizes the genus (while superficially appearing to be a good thing) can actually endanger the genetic integrity of existing native populations. While this may be an over simplistic summation, when foreign, perhaps deleterious genes, are continually pumped into a given discrete population it would only make sense that the overall fitness of individuals within the population would be negatively affected. This would ultimately affect the adaptations that allow the trees to cope with location specific environmental stresses that the species has been adapting to for thousands and thousands of years. So if you are in fact lucky enough to live in areas that has native apples, try your hand at preserving what little genetic integrity remains by planting a native Malus of your own. Be aware, however, that our native apples have pretty much no resistance to cedar apple rust, and while they will grow regardless, if you live in an area with eastern red cedar expect the trees to be mostly defoliated by the end of the season. And as one final disclaimer, don't expect the garish colors you are used to seeing at the grocery store. The fruits of our 4 native species pretty much peak at a dull yellowish green when ripe (although M. fusca does take on muted red and burgundy tones). Ok, now that I have thoroughly dampened whatever enthusiasm you might have for growing these natives, here ya go...



Malus angustifolia - Southern Crabapple
Zones (5)6-9
Purchase from: Foggy Mountain Nursery, Hidden Savanna Nursery, Just Fruits and Exotics, Nearly Native Nursery, Mail Order Natives, Vincent Gardens, Woodlanders



Malus coronaria - Sweet Crabapple
Zones 4-8
Purchase from: Alpha Nurseries, Cold Stream Farm, Forest Farm, Nurserymen.com



Malus fusca - Pacific Crabapple
Zones 5-8
Purchase from: Burnt Ridge Nursery, Forest Farm, Las Pilitas Nursery, Lawyer Nursery



Malus ioensis - Prairie Crabapple
Zones 4-8
While this native has lots of cultivars in the trade (mainly double flowered forms that are largely fruitless) the straight species is largely absent and rather difficult to locate.
Purchase from: Alpha Nursery, Sheffield's Seed Company

If you're on the market for something a bit flashier (and don't live in an area where you run the risk of corrupting the integrity of local native species) check out this lists put out by the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.

To summarize, embrace your inner whore and plant an apple. Or just plant an apple. That is all. :)

IMAGE SOURCES: M. angustifolia (flower, fruit), M. coronaria (flower, fruit), M. fusca (flower, fruit), M. ioensis (flower, fruit)

AUGUST LESSONS

There's something about August that forces one to pause... reflect... take stock. I'm not sure if it's the weather or the residual feelings that are ingrained in the subconscious of every former student, but somehow as the month begins to wain so to does the passage of time. By the last week of the month, the viscosity of life seems almost unbearable, suffocating even. It's no surprise that this time of year is the most challenging for a gardener (at least in my own limited experience).

At this point in the season all the garden's flaws seem to be front and center as most of the garden is in a not so graceful transitional phase, with many of the summer plants looking heat weary and worn, and the fall chorus still getting warmed up (or in this case cooled down). While fall still holds latent potential, much of the garden is past its prime and the sometimes harsh contrast between your own over-inflated expectations and the reality of what's in front of you can be a real downer. As unpleasant as this post summer reality might be, its an unavoidable, but necessary part of of having a garden. It prompts an efficiency and pragmatism that relentlessly pushes the design forward. This has been especially true of my recent endeavor, still in its infancy.

So rather than simply dwell on the negative, I thought I'd share some of my lessons by highlighting a few of the plants that surprised me... or will hopefully surprise me this year (both the good and the bad):


1. THOU SHALL KNOW THINE PLANT(S).


Liatris pyanostacha - Prairie Blazing Star
Zones 3-9
This is a great instance of not fully understanding a plant's unique qualities and attributes prior to using it in the garden, and then being dissapointed when the plant behaves exactly as it should. I had read repeatedly that this species of Liatris excelled in clay (which it obviously does). And of course, rather than investigating the plant any further, I immediately dropped the research part of getting to know the plant and left the rest up to my imagination. If I had actually followed up, even a little bit, I would have discovered that L. pyanostacha is the gangly monster of the genus. By the time they actually get around to flowering (at least in a heavier, fairly moist soil) the garden looks a bit like it's being invaded by a swarm of giant fuzzy purple caterpillars, creeping along the ground and on top of whatever poor neighbor they've happened to topple over on. Had I been a proper gardener and done my homework, I would have realized that when grown in a richer soil this species needs support from sturdier neighbors just as it does in it's prairie home (I'm gonna try interplanting it with either Boltonia asteroides, Agastache foeniculum, or Doellingeria umbellata. Haven't quite made up my mind just yet).
Purchase from: Agrecol, Almost Eden, Everwilde Farms, Forest Keeling, Hoffie Nursery, Ion Exchange, Lazy S'S Farm, Outback Nursery, Niche Gardens, Morning Sky Greenery, Prairie Moon, Prairie Nursery, Shooting Star Nursery, Spence Nursery

2. THOU SHALL PRESCRIBE TO A STRICT GARDENING DOGMA... THEN ACCEPT THAT ALL WHO ADHERE TO DOGMA OF ANY SORT ARE FOOLS AND FANATICS... BUT MAINLY JUST FOOLS.
There are 2 things I swore I'd never do: 1.) bother with any "non-indigenous" plants, and 2.) plant an annual. But, after dealing with voracious deer, water-logged clayey soil, salt, and biting winter winds howling off the Atlantic I've gone with a more "if it grows and doesn't get eaten I grow more of it" mentality. I might be over-simplifying just a bit, but I've been willing to bend my principles as of late (cautiously as always), but bend them none the less.


Salvia uliginosa - Bog Sage
Zones (6)7-10, surprisingly cold hardy for a Brazilian native
This tender perennial sage (that despite it's name, doesn't actually require a boggy soil) finally won me over with its long airy spires of true blue flowers. It's only been in the ground a little over a month now, but I'm already in love. At the very least (even if it doesn't come back) I'll be planting it in droves around the plants the deer favor, as it's pretty pungent, even for a sage. Pretty sure it would deter even the most determined of those perpetually munching herbivores.
Purchase from: Accents for Home and Garden, Avant Gardens, Colonial Creek Farm, Digging Dog, Gardens in the Wood of Grassy Creek, Joy Creek, Lazy S'S Farm, Plant Delights, Putnam Hill, Vincent Gardens


Salvia nutans - Nodding Sage
Zones 3-9. I've also seen a few 6-10, but given its natural range 3-9 is more likely.
Guess I'm just a softy for those damn sages (the deer resistant thing doesn't hurt either). I'll be planting a pair of these in the highest and driest part of the garden to see if they make it through the winter. If they live up to the hype and survive, the texture and movement this species simply can't be beat.
Purchase from: Flowers by the Sea

3. THOU SHALL EMBRACE SERENDIPITY, YET ALSO ACCEPT THINE HAND OF LADY REALITY WHILST SHE SLAPPEST THOU ACROSS THE FACE.

Doellingeria umbellata (syn. Aster umbellatus) - Flat-topped White Aster
Zones 3-8
I accidentally collected the seed of this species while attempting to collect both Symphyotrichum laeve and Symphyotrichum prenanthoides. As it turns out the deer love both S. laeve and S. prenanthoides, but seem to totally avoid Doellingeria umbellata. I've now planted this (previously unknown to me) aster in with the other 2 species to act as a deer deterrent. Not the showiest species, but pretty 'nough with clean dark green foliage all season to boot.
Purchase from: American Meadows, Everwilde Farms, Morning Sky Greenery, Prairie Moon

4. THOU SHALL BREATHE.

Magnolia virginiana - Sweetbay Magnolia
Zones 5-9
While Sweetbay Magnolia may be a rather ubiquitous small landscape tree south of New England, many of the more cold hardy cultivars have yet to be fully utilized up north. I've taken some initiative by taking cuttings of northern stock material given that the more cold hardy cultivars (mainly 'Henry Hicks', 'Ned's Northern Belle' and 'Moonglow' aka 'Jim Wilson') aren't readily available in the north (go figure). Despite almost losing everything at one point, I now have a least 4 rooted cuttings that I'll hopefully be harvesting seed off of in a few years to spread around the property and neighboring swamps.
Purchase from: Beaver Creek, Briggs Forest Farm, Kelly Nursery, Gardensoyvey, Pleasant Run, Sooner Plant Farm, Southeastern Natives, Spring Meadow, Tankard Nurseries