Burr it's cold!

Species name: Arctium sp. (probably Arctium lappa)

Common name: burdock (probably greater burdock)

Location: Western University Campus, London, Ontario

I decided to start this year off with a bang, or a burr if you will, using a blog post with lots of pretty pictures. :) Who doesn't love pretty pictures?! The burdock plant is pretty well-known in North America where it was introduced from Europe, the Middle East and Asia (pretty much every area in the Northern Hemisphere EXCEPT North America). Across its native and introduced range it has the potential to become quite invasive, as it thrives in disturbed, nitrogen-rich soils. This makes it an especially-potent agricultural weed species. In most cases, however, when burdock seeds enter an area (especially a landscaped garden like you'd find around a home) a couple might develop into plants but spreading is rare. While I took these pictures on campus, there is also a very small colony (two plants) growing in my back yard. Since they're out of the way, I've left them there and hoped that the "keeper of the garden" (aka my dad) doesn't find them ugly enough to remove. To me, they're pretty in their own way. I wouldn't want lots of them (since they're irritating in their own way, too!), but one or two is just fine.

I had a bit of trouble getting this plant down to the species level because I neglected to make notes of (or take pictures of) the distinguishing characteristics between the greater burdock and the lesser burdock. One of the main ways to tell them apart is by looking at the base of the flower, or what we would call the "burr." If the flower is on a stalk, it's the greater burdock, and if the flower is directly attached to the branch (or is on a very short stalk), it's the lesser burdock. Since I think these pictures are just great, I'm going to go with the greater burdock :) Next time since I know what I'm looking for I'll make sure I photograph the stalks (or lack thereof) that the flowers are sitting on so I can make sure my identification is correct! There is one more burdock species in Ontario (also a non-native species) called the woolly burdock, but this one is easily distinguished from the other two. It has a bract at the bottom of each leaf that has very fine spike-like hairs on it. Neither of the other two species we have here show this characteristic. Aside from the flowers on (or not on) stalks, the other way to tell the lesser and greater burdock apart is based on size; the greater burdock is almost twice the size at maturity, and can have a taproot up to three feet long. For a plant that's only about three times bigger than that (but many in Canada don't reach that size), that's an enormous root! For all three species there are separate male and female flowers within the flower head. You can tell the difference by looking for the stigmas (the female bits of the flowers); they are pointed out with the bright pink arrow in the picture third from the bottom. Usually the stigmas only develop after the stamens of the male flowers have released their pollen; this way the plant can make sure the stigmas will catch pollen, but it won't be its own pollen; this is one of the mechanisms most often used to ensure cross-pollination between individual plants, rather than the pollen of an inflorescence landing on the stigma from that same inflorescence.

The burdock plant is pretty awesome for two reasons. First, if you look closely at the last picture you'll see that the burrs open up at the top to release the seeds, which are like miniature dandelion seeds, fluffy bit and all. The actual burr is covered in hairs with a hook at the end, and the tip of the hook has a very sharp point. This makes the burr feel "sticky" when you put it on your skin or when you grab at one, even though there's actually no sticky substance on the hairs. If you own a dog and have ever walked it through a forest or a field, I'm sure you're well aware of the nightmare that is "de-burring" a dog. The type of hair that covers dogs is just made for burrs using those hooked hairs to latch on for seed dispersal. Eventually, the dog will roll around on the ground, breaking open the burr and releasing the seeds (or the seeds will just gradually fall out of the hole in the burr, being released as the dog walks). Burrs certainly didn't co-evolve with dogs, but more like woolly mammoths, bears, moose, and other animals characteristic of northern climates (dogs just happen to be what is most likely to come by now). In the 1940s, a very smart man by the name of George de Mestral was getting very annoyed at having to pick burrs off of his dog after taking him for walks. After a few years of this he decided to clip some out of the dog fur instead of pulling them off so he could look at how the burrs attach to the dog hair. He realized he could exploit this technology; by collecting his dog's hair that comes off in brushes and the hairs of the burr, he could glue one to one side of two things he wanted to join, and glue the other to the other side. Once they come in contact, they would be permanently joined until they were carefully separated. Obviously no one wants dog hair and burrdock burrs glued to their clothing, but making synthetic versions of both of these gave us one of the most important inventions in the 20th century: velcro. Parents will small children: Mr. de Mestral I'm sure says "you're welcome!"

The other awesome part about this plant is that the giant taproot forming at the base of the plant is actually edible. Back in the Middle Ages in Europe this plant was actually one of many staple food crops, and was eaten and cultivated across Europe. Since then it has largely been abandoned as a source of food, but every so often you find it popping up in local cuisine. In Japan, for example, greater burdock roots are still peeled and cooked in a traditional stir-fry dish called kinpira gobo ("kinpira" for carrot, "gobo" for burdock). I didn't realize what I was eating at the time, but I had this dish when I was in Japan. It's pretty good! Not all that much flavour, but certainly not undesirable. I would definitely have it again now that I know what I'm eating.

Greater burdock roots also have a long history of being used in Traditional Chinese Medicine to treat blood and kidney diseases. Depending on what part of the plant is consumed (not the roots), it can be a pretty powerful diuretic, so if you don't know what you're doing, don't cook it. Other medicinal uses have not been established to be effective or ineffective, but there is some anecdotal evidence to suggest that some uses may be beneficial. First, the Ojibwa people have used burdock roots in a tea-like preparation to treat cancer (no evidence this is effective) and the leaves in a maceration with oils to treat baldness (also no evidence this is effective, but it does clean hair nicely if rinsed well). The Chinese also crush the seeds and consume the powder to treat flu, nausea and colds, and there is some evidence that this might be effective. The seeds contain chemicals called arctigenin, arctiin and aglycone, which have been shown in mice to be effective as: anti-viral treatments (especially against influenza A), anti-inflammatory agents (especially in the small intestine, but also to some degree in swollen joints as a result of arthritis), and anti-cancer treatments (extracts from the seeds, and pulverized seeds themselves, have been shown to kill tumour cells growing on artificial nutrient medium in petri dishes; this has never been tested in a living body of any type of animal). You never know; in a few decades burdock extract might be one of our new "wonder drugs"!

I'm back at blogging, and thanks for sticking through my absence! I really appreciate all of your continued support in my endeavours to spread the word that plants are awesome. Happy New Year to those that celebrate at this time of year!

Remembering JFK with cornflowers

Species name: Centaurea cyanus

Common name: bachelor's button, cornflower

Location: picture 1 from HERE, picture 2 from HERE, picture 3 from HERE and picture 4 from HERE

Today is a rather special day in history, whether you're American or not, and this special day deserves its own special blog post. In case you aren't aware of the significance of today, it is the 50th anniversary of the assassination of the former President of the United States, John F. Kennedy, in Texas. He was one of the most well-liked Presidents in US history, and will always be remembered as one of the great young minds that died far too young. With that said, let's see how well I can weave this into a blog about plants.

The cornflower, also called the bachelor's button or the common cornflower, is native to Europe where it historically grew like a weed. It prefers highly disturbed areas like prairies (historically, the sustaining life source of a prairie was fire which wipes out much of the herbaceous growth, allowing new species to colonize the area), which is why it can sometimes be seen growing alongside the Flander's poppy, as seen in the fourth image above (I thought that was rather fitting, since both flowers are now considered the flowers of remembrance depending on which continent and/or country you're from). Unfortunately for the cornflower, it also thrives as an agricultural weed since agricultural fields are, by default, highly disturbed areas. They are plowed every year which encourages weedy plants (or plants that can grow very quickly) to move in and colonize the area. Because of the intense amount of herbicides that are applied to agricultural fields, many of the once-ideal habitats for cornflowers are now being lost. This has led to the placement of the cornflower onto many endangered species lists across much of its native range (the population in the UK has gone from 264 sites to just 3 sites in 50 years; also a rather fitting time of measurement). Fortunately for the cornflower, it's not about to go extinct any time soon. It has been introduced as an ornamental species in North America, and parts of Africa and Asia where it is considered a naturalized species (locally invasive in some areas). In Australia it is a pest species. In fact, because of the planting of this species ornamentally it was recently featured near the top of the list of the top 100 species that have the potential to be brought back from the brink of extinction. With proper rehabilitation efforts and the protection of prairie habitats across Europe, this species could once again thrive.

There are also some locations where cornflowers are planted for agricultural purposes aside from seed generation for the ornamental flower trade. Cornflower "petals" (I'll get into this in a minute) are dried and often used as an additive in loose leaf teas to impart flavour and colour into some blends. The flavour is very subtle; so subtle I doubt you would even be able to pick up the taste. More often than not, cornflowers are added to loose teas just to make them look pretty in their package. And who isn't about to buy tea because it looks pretty?! I'll admit, I've been guilty of that on more than one occasion. Sometimes with successful results, but often with "BLAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHH!!!!" results. That's also how I buy my wine. You'd think I would learn from these experiences...

The petals seen in the cornflower aren't really petals at all. The "flower" of a cornflower is a compound flower, or a flower head. Each one of the "petals" is called a ray floret, and each one of the dark purple wispy bits on the inside of the flower head is called a disc flower. This is the typical flower head (or inflorescence) structure of flowers in the aster or sunflower family.

Aside from being the flower of remembrance in the United Kingdom and much of the rest of Europe, cornflowers hold special meaning to JFK. Not only was blue his favourite colour, but on those days when he wore flowers on his lapel (which was quite often) they were always cornflowers. In fact, on the day his son, John F. Kennedy Jr., was married he had cornflowers pinned to his lapel and cornflowers were featured in the bridal bouquet and in every centrepiece as a symbol of remembrance for his father.

I often wonder what the world would be like today if people like JFK and Martin Luther King Jr. were still alive. Would gay marriage be an issue? Would it be a bigger issue than it is today? What about poverty and homelessness? Drug use? I guess it doesn't do much to hypothesize about how the world would be different, but instead try to make it different. Push the envelope to do better, to be better.

May you Rest In Peace, John Fitzgerald Kennedy. May 29, 1917 - November 22, 1963

President John F. Kennedy

JFK Jr. giving his father a final salute

The sedge masquerading as nutsedge

Yesterday I did a Sherwood Fox Arboretum tour with a group on campus (the Senior Alumni). We walked around a tiny corner of the campus, talked about a bunch of trees (but certainly not all!) that we saw on the way, they asked questions (I tried my best to answer most of them!), we laughed at my silly jokes, and then we all went on our merry way. If you're here reading my blog because I told you about it yesterday, welcome! I'm glad you found it. To the rest of the almost 21,000 of you that have discovered my blog: you're awesome! Thanks for helping make my "little project" turn into a rather large project read worldwide. I appreciate your eyeballs glancing over my blog every so often :)

Species name: Cyperus sp. (probably Cyperus strigosus)

Common name: false nutsedge

Location: Western University campus

Sedges are neat and wonderful plants, but most of them get completely overlooked by the average person. They are relatives of grasses (in that they're in the same order of plants, which I guess would make them cousins in a way), along with rushes, but have one notable characteristic that distinguishes them from the grass family. More on that later. A lot of people, even a lot of professional botanists and a lot of amateur botanists, completely ignore sedges (any kind of grass, really) when coming up with plants to identify because they're just so gosh darn hard to ID without a microscope. There are so many species of grasses and grass relatives that it is incredibly easy to misidentify them. There are only a few subtle characteristics that can be used to identify different species of grasses and sedges, most of which require the use of either a dissecting or compound microscope. Characteristics like the shape and size of the flower (in this species you can see the flowers in the bottom picture; they are about 1 mm long and are yellow, with the white stamens sticking out to disperse pollen), and the shape and size of the pollen grains (not pictured since that requires a microscope to see, and that would have required me collecting the plant which I don't normally do). Since I have neither of these to work with, the best that I can do is a "best guess" based on habitat (a place that regularly gets wet, and can be quite swampy at times), country location (North America), and colour of the flowers based on the time of year (many turn brown as the seeds mature, and seed maturation is in the spring for some species, the summer for others, and the fall for yet others). I know I definitely have the genus correct, this is most certainly a Cyperus. I'm also pretty certain about the species name (C. strigosus) because of the presence of wispy leaves at the bottom of the stem (many sedges only have leaves under the flowers, not also at the base of the stem), and the general shape of the inflorescences or the flower heads.

If I am correct about my identification, this species of sedge is native to North America, from Canada all the way south to parts of northern Mexico. It prefers disturbed areas, as this species is only good at competing for resources with other plants when there is low diversity and a large amount of available light. This is the same as many species of sedge; in established meadows it is rare to see a lot of sedges (although, at the periphery they might lead you to believe they might be common, since edge habitats are disturbed areas by definition). In areas of bare soil (like newly tilled agricultural fields or even backyard gardens), it is common for this plant to invade and spread rapidly. It can become invasive in some areas that are under constant states of disturbance, and is also considered an agricultural pest.

So what makes sedges, as a group, interesting? They look a whole lot like grass, and with one exception have no major economic value. The fascinating part about these plants is their stem structure: it's triangular. If you make a cross-section of the plant, it is incredibly obvious that the stem is triangular (mint stems are, as a general rule, square but some species have "rounded square" stems so you have to use your imagination a bit to see the square; this is not the case with sedges. They all have distinctly triangular stems). You can even tell that the stems are triangular in the middle picture by looking at the leaves emerging from just under the inflorescences: the largest leaves all radiate outwards from each edge of the triangle, and the smaller leaves under them radiate outwards from the three corners of the triangle stem. If you think about it, maintaining a triangle during growth would be incredibly difficult. The more you push the sides of a triangle outwards to "make room" for stuff on the inside, the more it becomes a circle. You'd think that after the stem was finished growing, it should be completely cylindrical and only have three ridges or bumps where the triangle's corners used to be. That's not actually what happens, since fully-mature sedges still have triangular stems. Plants aren't as simple as we think they are!

I mentioned somewhere up there that there's only one economically important sedge. Even at that, the economic importance of this species is significantly less than what it once was. I'll give you bonus points if you can figure out what it is (these points can be added to other hypothetical points you get in other places. You know, like bonus points you get for doing the dishes or walking the dog without having to be asked. Those kinds of points).

Las Tres Hermanas

Today instead of a "regular" blog where I only profile one species, I figured I would profile a mini-ecosystem, and a traditional method of growing crop species. On campus there was a recent initiative to convert some "wasted space" (a plot of land completely over-run by Japanese knotweed, which you can read about HERE, and buckthorn, which you can read about HERE) into a garden. This isn't your everyday garden, even though at first glance you might think it is. This is an Aboriginal garden. What makes that different from a regular garden? Well, all of the plants grown in the garden have traditional uses, and some are even heirloom varieties, to Aboriginal North Americans. Many of the species grown are food crops, and they're grown in the same manner that their ancestors would have grown them, and they're growing the same varieties that their ancestors would have grown 3,000 years ago. I find this a pretty mind-boggling idea: growing the exact same genetic variety of plants as your ancestors did 3,000 years ago. Not looking up at a 3,000 year old tree and thinking "gee, I wonder how it got here" (there are very few of these left in the world, but they do exist), but growing the same food to eat that your ancestors ate. Awesome! There are a bunch of other plants in this garden other than just the three I'm profiling (including "medicinal tobacco," which is a concept I will never understand) so if you're on campus sometime next summer or fall make sure you walk around the outside of the garden and check out what they're growing (the garden is behind Collip building, near the lower greenhouses. A PDF map of campus is available HERE).

So with out further rambling, I present the Three Sisters:

Sisters, huh? These are three crop species all domesticated at about the same time (5,000 years ago) all in the same place (Mexico), and all eaten at the same time. Corn, squash and beans all contain different quantities of essential nutrients, and when the three are eaten in combination they provide an excellent balanced diet. Corn is rich in starch, beans are rich in protein, and squash contains many of the vitamins and other nutrients not in the other two (plus has a nice sweetness to balance a meal). Sometimes you'll also find potatoes added to a Three Sisters soup, but don't worry. That should actually be called a Four Sisters soup, and would have been a traditional food of Peruvian people (once corn had been domesticated into a crop species and the knowledge and seeds were shared; potatoes, beans, and a different type of squash had all been domesticated in and around Peru about 9,000 years ago!)

So let's talk about each species!

Species name: Zea mays

Common name: corn

Location: Western University campus (Aboriginal garden)

First we've got the plant that's most easily distinguished in the first image, and that's corn. Corn is a very unique plant in that it is monoecious: this means it has separate male and female flowers on the same plant. The male flowers, called staminate flowers, are at the top and are often called the "tassel." The female flowers, called ovulate flowers, can be found at the base of each of the leaves and they turn into the cobs of corn that we eat for dinner. If you are driving down a highway in "corn country" (there are a lot of farms that grow corn in Southwestern Ontario, but also a huge number of farms in the southern United States), keep your eyes peeled for corn growing in tightly packed rows with signs at the end. There would maybe be 2 or 3 of these rows, then a large space (large enough for someone to comfortably walk down and be able to take notes or photographs), and then more tightly packed rows with a different sign. This is the type of growth and the type of planting that comes with field trials of experimental varieties of corn. If the varieties don't work (don't produce enough corn, the kernels are often misshapen, are more prone to disease, don't mature fast enough, or any other number of reasons), then they are scrapped and not grown again. Farmers can "lease" part of their land to plant breeding companies for field trials, and they are compensated often by square foot; for every square foot they allow companies to grow corn, they are compensated for the amount of money they would have earned by growing their own corn on that plot. So if market value of corn is very low, there's little incentive to lease out your land for experiments. If market value of corn is very high, you could lease out a small area, not have to water or fertilize it (so lower cost for the farmer), and still get the same amount of money out of it. Good deal!

But obviously all of this is an aside; I want to talk about corn, not about farming. What do experimental rows of corn have to do with the biology of a corn plant? If you look carefully at these rows, you might notice something missing. It's difficult to put your finger on it if you don't know what you're looking for, but look at the tops of the plants. Do you see any tassels? The answer is more than likely you don't see any. This is an ancient practice dating back to the very first attempts at domesticating corn. People figured out very early that in order to select traits you want to propagate, you have to know who the "parents" are of the plant. Male flowers blow their pollen everywhere, and if the pollen lands on the silks of a female flower then that pollen fertilizes that flower (each kernel of corn used to be its own flower, so in order to get a fully developed cob you have to have every single flower fertilized or you get those awkward holes in the cob that no one likes, and misshapen kernels around the hole). Not knowing what pollen landed on the silks is a big problem, so if you cut the tassels off the top then you eliminate the issue of not knowing what pollen fertilized the female corn flowers. De-tasseling is a very labor-intensive process, and is rarely done anymore with corn unless a breeding program is in place. There are other, much easier ways to sterilize corn but they all involve transgenic (genetically modified) plants. If you want to see how a new variety of plant is doing, usually it's not a transgenic plant (there are many, many regulations in place for new transgenic plants and testing phases; a biotechnology company can't just walk up to a farmer and say "hey! Grow this. I'll pay you.").

So what's special about corn? Well, we've managed to modify the plant beyond its biological means. What do I mean by that? Traditional breeding (controlled crosses of plants in attempts to propagate desirable traits; something still very common in the gardening industry with food and ornamental plants) has managed to completely eliminate the possibility of the corn plant being able to reproduce on its own. Think about the seeds: each kernel of corn is an individual seed, meant to be dispersed into the environment. How on earth is a corn kernel going to be dispersed when it's covered with all of those layers of thick husk? The husk does a great job of protecting the kernels from the outside environment (which makes a good cob to eat), but that's lousy for the plant. In fact, even if the thick husk didn't exist at all, the kernels now more often rot on the plant than fall off because of other traits we have bred into corn plants (no one wants all of their corn kernels loose in the husk, so our ancestors selected traits that kept the kernels on the cob for eating). There are so many modifications that have been made to corn that it now looks nothing like its ancestor, Teosinte. Teosinte is still relatively common in the wild, and grows like a weed. Corn? It would cease to exist in a very, very short time without human intervention.

Species name: Phaseolus vulgaris

Common name: common bean

Location: Western University campus (Aboriginal garden)

Common beans have themselves been domesticated separately dozens of times by different populations of people in Central and South America to create all of the different types of beans we have today. String beans, French beans, haricots, garden beans, navy beans, kidney beans, wax beans, bush beans, pole beans, black turtle beans, pinto beans, and pop beans are all different names of the same species, often associated with specific varieties of the plant (and there are many, MANY other types of beans that are all part of this species). I have no idea what variety or cultivar of beans these are, but they are the "pole bean" type in that they are climbing vines. When the Three Sisters are grown together, corn acts like the pole that beans can grow up. They in turn fix nitrogen from the atmosphere into a type of nitrogen that plants can use, which is like free fertilizer. The corn plant says "thank you very much" and uses almost all of it in order to produce the corn kernels. The bean vines are a bit hard to see unless you know what you're looking for, so I put a red box around where most of the bean plants can be seen. Look for a vine-like plant with leaves that each have three leaflets. It might look a bit like poison ivy has taken over the vegetable patch :)

Also highlighted in this picture is one of the neat characteristics about this traditional corn variety grown: when mature, the husks around the cobs turn a dark purple. In fact, if you compare the picture above (the husk is in the purple box) to the second picture of the corn plants, you can see the drastic difference in shade of purple that the husks are of those two corn cobs. A pretty neat indicator to know when your corn is ready to eat!

Species name: Cucurbita sp. (probably C. maxima)

Common name: squash

Location: Western University campus (Aboriginal garden)

The last of the three sisters is simply known as "squash", and could be any number of species or varieties. This type sure looks like a pumpkin to me, but it might just be a type of "Candy Roaster" squash which was actually domesticated in North America (in the southern United States by the Cherokee). The role that squash plays in an agricultural sense is a "Jack of all trades." The leaf stems or petioles are incredibly prickly with stiff hairs, which is a strong deterrent of agricultural pests. The leaves themselves are enormous, which provides a great amount of shade at soil level. This does two things: first, it creates a cooler microclimate at the base of the corn stalks so that the hot soil in the heat of summer doesn't burn the stalk, and second it shades out any weeds that might want to grow in the garden so the corn and beans can use all the soil's nutrients.

The nutritional side of the squash is two-fold. First, it contains a huge number of nutrients that the other two crops don't have but are necessary for proper nutrition like vitamin A, many of the vitamin B complexes, and vitamin C. It also contains quite a bit of sugar compared to starch, so can be used to sweeten a meal and impart flavour (corn and beans on their own don't taste like much, it's the liquid you cook them in or the spices you add that make them taste good). The seeds of squashes are also incredibly nutritious, but can also be pressed instead of eaten and used as cooking oils. If dried properly, the seeds can also be ground into a paste (the North American version of hummus?), or into a fine powder and used to make bread. Now that I know this I'm on the hunt for squash-bread. If you know how to make this, please let me know. It sounds delicious!

_________________________________________________________________________________

So there we have it! The three sisters, all being grown just outside my building in a neat, new garden on campus. Now I'm tempted to make some corn, bean and squash soup for dinner...

You put your left flower in, you take your left flower out...

Species name: Physostegia virginiana

Common name: obedient plant

Location: Western University campus

I didn't realize until after I had taken and water-marked these photos that I had already blogged about this plant once. If you'd like to go back and read the first version, you can do so HERE. If you'd like to read a "better than the last" version, keep reading! :)

The obedient plant is one cool plant. Endless hours of entertainment if you're lost in a prairie (more on that later). The native range of this tiny plant is quite impressive, ranging from the northernmost edge of the temperate forest in Canada all the way south to parts of the (very small bit that's remaining) tropical forests of Mexico. If grown in Canada it illustrates the reason why I should have made the species status diagrams with a "common, native, invasive species" combination because it spreads very quickly and can dominate a landscape in just a few years. Where there is snow during the winter the plant will die off, but because of the extensive underground network of rhizomes it will pop back up in the spring and produce more of the beautiful flowers. If you're thinking of planting this species in your garden, then go ahead and do so if you live in my area. It's a native species, and it's never a bad idea to plant a native species! You might want to reconsider, however, if you have an intense aversion to weeding (it will spread, trust me) or if your yard backs onto an Environmentally Significant Area. For those locations, even the slightest change in dominant species (such as providing a source for a seed bank of a weedy, although native, species) could spell disaster for the area. Always make sure you keep in mind what is around you before making major changes to the landscaping in your yard.

This species is one of the best examples of a member of the mint family, or the Lamiaceae. The stems of this family are almost always square, while nearly all other plant stems (the notable exception are the sedges) are round in cross-section. You can see the ridges of the square stems of this plant clearly in the third picture, above. The leaves are also characteristic of the mint family: they are simple leaves with teeth (some members of the mint family have leaves with smooth edges) that emerge from the stem directly across from each other. The next node up (or down) on the stem will also have opposite leaves but they will be at right angles to the previous level of leaves. You can also see what I mean by this in the third photo. The flowers are also very characteristic of the mint family, although different varieties of this plant have been modified in different ways (sometimes quite drastically) to be different than the so-called "wild type." A wild type plant is a plant that would be found growing in the wild without having experienced any intervention by horticulturalists (or, in the case of edible plants, farmers). The group of plants above are pretty characteristic of the wild type of this species: purple-pink flowers, the flower petals are joined at the bottom and form a structure that looks like two lips at the edge of the flower, darker purple or purple-pink splotches on the bottom lip, and the sexual parts (most noticeable being the stigmas) being attached to the top lip of the flower. This "two lip" morphology isn't done just by chance by the plant; it's actually a flower shape that has co-eveolved with the choice pollinator of this species: bees. Something that you may or may not be aware about bees is that they can't see colours like we see colours. Everything green looks a very dark blue to them, so picking out flowers from a sea of blue-black is difficult, especially when you can't see them. Bess are special, though, because they can see a wavelength of light that we can't see: ultraviolet light. This means that anything that's purple, or even purple-pink, will glow when a bee looks at it. The flowers themselves aren't quite purple, so merely act as lightly glowing beacons in the sea of blue-black plant material. This is enough to entice the bees over, but the dark purple patches on the lower lips of the flower is what really brings the bees over. The bees see the structure of the flower, and use the lower lip of the flower like a landing pad (those darker splotches would be like the landing lights that pilots use to land planes on runways at night). The bee would wiggle around, trying to get its head as deep into the flower tube as possible to access all of the yummy nectar. This would cause the bee's back to rub up against the stigmas of the flower (located on the top lip, which you can see in the fourth and fifth pictures above), which would dust pollen all over the bee's back. Once the nectar is gone, the bee would fly to the next flower, do the same thing, and transfer all of the pollen from its back onto the stigmas of the next flower, ensuring successful cross-pollination. Sneaky little flower! But also quite a smart little flower.

So why is this plant called the "obedient" plant? Well...it stays where you put it. Huh? The flowers actually have the ability to swivel around the flower stalk, and when the flowers swivel into a new position they stay that way. Check it out below:

In the top photo all of the flowers are pointing towards the ground, which is actually pretty common in this species once the flower heads flop over (often they grow too quickly for their own stems to support them if conditions are ideal). In the bottom photo I took two of the flowers by the base and swivelled them around to point straight up. They'll stay that way for up to a minute, then flop back to their original position. If you give the flowers a break, you can move them back and forth multiple times before the plant will just give up on those flowers and dissolve them off the flower stalk. Only the best are allowed to set seed!

Snowdrops sometimes turn into trees?

Species name: Halesia carolina (=? Halesia parviflora)

Common name: snowdrop tree, little silverbells

Location: Western University campus

To say that this plant has "a bit" of confusion surrounding the proper Latin name would be an understatement. There isn't just a bit of confusion, there's a whole lot of confusion. Linnaeus (the grandfather of modern taxonomy) was the one that first described this species, and even he admitted later that based on his "vague" description of the species he might not recognize it if face-to-face with it again. I guess that doesn't say much; some of the first biologists interested in assigning proper names to every living thing on earth often gave two, three, sometimes even four separate names to the same organism after forgetting they had already described it and with no Google Images to make the task easier, I don't blame them!

When the original description of a species is somewhat vague and someone else comes along later describing that species and assigning a new name, sometimes this new name becomes the official name. This happened for a while with this species, when Andre Michaux came along and not only provided a much more eloquent description of the species which contained more information, but also deposited a "voucher specimen" (or a portion of dried plant material kept in a dried and pressed plant library called a herbarium) that was much more informative than Linnaeus' specimen. In order for a specimen to be deemed "valuable" or "informative" to a herbarium and to future researchers, you need to be able to see a few key characteristics: either intact flowers or fruit but preferably both, both the front and the back of the leaves, an intact branch or portion of the branch showing the leaf arrangement on the branch, and any other important characteristics of the plant that could be used to distinguish species. If you just press a leaf or two and call it a new species, all green glossy leaves start to look the same after a while! The fact that Michaux's specimen contained both the fruit (of the previous year, which don't dislodge from the branch until the end of the flowering period the next spring) and the flowers as well as some leaves means it was much more valuable than half a fruit and four leaves. BUT. Life as a taxonomist isn't always that easy, especially if you're trying to "one-up" Linnaeus. Most taxonomists today concede that Linnaeus' description and specimen are "good enough" and so his name takes precedence (also because it is older). Regardless of the proper Latin name for this species, the status of the species and the native range doesn't change. The native range has now become highly fragmented due to the urban expansion of large cities; the snowdrop tree used to occupy a large range from Mississippi all the way southeast to Florida and northeast to North Carolina in the United States, but now only occupies a few small pockets in this area where intact forests remain. It is now widely planted around the world as a small ornamental tree, but this doesn't help the regeneration of the natural population. Given more deforestation (due to continued urban expansion or natural disasters like Hurricane Katrina), this tree species will almost certainly be at risk of extinction.

So what's so special about this tree? Well...it's pretty. And that's about all I've got. It's not a particularly outstanding tree for ornamental value, although it does have pretty white flowers (that don't usually have a very strong scent) in the early spring before the leaves emerge, then the unusual four-sided fruits that contain the seeds in the late summer through to the next spring. It's not a particularly good food source for any native Canadian animals since they don't recognize the fruits as being edible (that is, if they're edible at all; a single website states the fruits are edible and taste like cucumbers when still green but I don't recommend you experiment). The tree is incredibly slow-growing and rarely is taller than 10 meters in height. The tree often starts branching very close to the ground, giving it a bushy appearance, meaning the wood is also less than desirable for lumber purposes. The wood can often take on a very "knotty" appearance when grown in the presence of cicadas; they tap into the tree for the sap during the late summer (they use the tree's sap an energy source to make that buzzing sound). The tree goes a bit crazy trying to repair the "tap wounds" from the cicadas, and you end up with giant bulbs of woody tissue protruding off the main trunk and large main branches. Here in Canada the same thing happens, but often as a result of damage by other insects (which is strange, because we also have cicadas. Maybe they don't know they should be drinking snowdrop tree sap in Canada?). These protrusions make the tree look especially creepy at night because of the strange shadows the limbs cast.

Apparently this tree not only has an incredibly showy display in the spring with the flowers (which I'm ashamed to say I've never noticed despite this tree being right outside the building I work in), it also has a spectacular fall colour display. The leaves turn almost a neon yellow, which makes it stand out from all other yellow-turning trees before losing its leaves to overwinter. If I manage to catch the tree before it goes from "green to dead" (as I suspect many trees will this year with our first frost that we had last night...), I'll post an update with the fall colour and (if I remember this long down the road) another update in the spring when the tree is full of flowers.

The common name of this tree, for once, is actually something I can get behind. If you're familiar with early-flowering wildflowers, you will probably know and love snowdrops, sometimes called silver bells. If you've ever looked at them closely, they look an awful lot like the flowers on this tree except smaller and a clear difference between the petals and the sepals (sepals stick straight outwards, and the petals point down towards the ground). If you've never seen this tree before but have seen snowdrops, it will look a bit like you've picked a bunch of snowdrops and crazy-glued them to the branches of the tree to give it some colour. "Snowdrop tree" is indeed exactly what it looks like!

One version of the Rose of Sharon

Species name: Hibiscus syriacus

Common name: rose of Sharon, rose mallow

Location: my back yard (London, Ontario)

I personally love this shrub, but it illustrates how the term "invasive" is only meaningful to a small geographic location, and is certainly not a broad-reaching term. Most horticultural experts would say that this plant has the potential to become invasive, but only in areas where growing conditions are ideal (usually significantly further south than where I am). Well, obviously growing conditions are ideal here; this shrub is now taller than I am (and pruned every year) and wasn't there when we first moved into the house in 2006 (the neighbours have one that's probably 20 feet tall now; it's gigantic!). Pretty impressive for a shrub that was once considered to be intolerant to frost, so much so that people in Britain were strongly suggested against planting it in their garden but rather overwintering the plant indoors in the warm cellar. When Linnaeus (the grandfather of plant taxonomy or the naming of plants) first discovered this plant in the 1700s he knew it was native to Asia, but was convinced that the native range extended from the area now known as China and Korea all the way to the west to Syria (where he named the plant after). Unfortunately, his native range was a bit off and we now know that it doesn't extend much further west than India. The plant has been naturalized in many areas of the world now, ranging as far north as England (and Canada, for that matter) and as far west as Spain and Portugal. The flowers are very short-lived, so enjoy them on the plant while they last; typically a single flower bloom will be dead by the evening of the next day, but thousands of flower buds are produced on the plant in a single growing season. There's never much time during the summer where the plant isn't in full bloom. It shouldn't be surprising that this plant is one of the favourite food plants of those ugly "June bugs" that invade at the beginning of the summer; the plant and the bug are both originally from the same area of the world.

This plant is a great example of why I hate referring to plants exclusively by their common names. The common name "Rose of Sharon" can be used to refer to many plants, and this mostly depends on what era you're living in. Today, that common name is usually applied to this plant, the rose mallow, but other times it is also used to refer to an evergreen shrub with tiny yellow flowers native to Europe and southeast Asia (that is completely unrelated, might I add). In biblical times, the term "Rose of Sharon" was used to refer to at least four different plants depending on your geographic location: it could be a crocus growing on the Plain of Sharon, a tulip-like plant with bright red flowers growing in abundance in the Hills of Sharon, the Sharon tulip (a species of the genus Tulipa that is no longer grown in abundance as an ornamental species; in fact it is now quite rare), or the plant that we now refer to as the Madonna lily. But, of course, interpretations of the Bible change, and now most biblical scholars have agreed that the name "rose of Sharon" is actually a mistranslation from Hebrew and should actually be "crocus of Sharon" if you're referring to the biblical plant, and is actually referring to the now critically endangered plant known as the sand daffodil or the Lily of St. Nicholas which is neither a daffodil, nor lily, nor is it a crocus. So! Can we all agree that common names are silly? :)

The "real" rose of Sharon, at least my version of the rose of Sharon, is a plant that is of great importance to the people of South Korea (perhaps North Korea, too, but finding out for sure is obviously problematic). The flower of this plant is the national flower of South Korea, and it is also believed that it is an important medicinal plant. Traditional Korean medicine uses the flowers and leaves of this plant brewed in a tea to ensure eternal life (whether this is actual eternal life or proverbial eternal life I'm not sure), and the leaves and flowers are also commonly eaten during special events or special ceremonies. I've tried chewing a bit on the leaves of this plant and find it...unpalatable at best. With Korean food being as spicy as it is, I find it hard to believe you could pick out the flavour of the leaves, but that might change with cooking (and they might be used in mild dishes, too. I'm not sure). I still haven't brought myself to try eating a flower; the thought of eating flowers still seems like a botanical injustice to me. Why would I want to eat something so pretty?!

Will this plant really repel mosquitos?

Species name: Cymbopogon citratus

Common name: lemon grass

Location: teaching lab at Western

Lemon grass (or lemongrass. Same thing) is native to southeast Asia, which should be intuitive for those that cook international cuisine (or local cuisine, I guess, if you're in Thailand or the Philippines!) since it is heavily used in Thai and Filipino dishes. If you've never seen the full plant before (as opposed to just the bulbous bottom of the stalk in the grocery store like in the third photo), you'll notice it looks a whole lot like ornamental grasses you might grow in your garden if you live in temperate North America, like zebra grass (which you can read all about HERE). This species of plant, while not in the same genus as zebra grass, is a close relative and in the grass family.

Like ginger (profiled a few days ago in a blog entry that you can read HERE), lemon grass has a ligule that is useful in identification of the species. It is a very unusual ligule in that there are long hair-like appendages that protrude out of the base of the blade of each leaf, and the papery part of the ligule is short and has nearly a straight edge (which is unusual for a ligule; usually they're longer in the middle than they are on either side and somewhat semi-circular shaped). It's a pretty characteristic ligule, and I'm ashamed to say I didn't get a great picture of it when I had the chance. I'll have to go track down this plant in the greenhouse and make sure I get a good picture of it! Like other grass plants, but unlike ginger, lemon grass has very non-descript flowers that are pollinated by the wind (and that is actually a photo of the flowers in the fourth photograph). This is a characteristic of nearly all species in the grass family, where the amount of resources necessary to allocate to a "pretty" flower used to attract insects or small animals (like hummingbirds or even mice) is far more than it is just to give way to the wind and rely on having your pollen blown from plant to plant. This is partly attributed to the habitat in which most grasses live; wind is abundant in prairie habitats and cheap to use. If you rely on living pollinators to cross-pollinate your flowers, you may run the risk one day of having pollen ready before there are pollinators around to transport it for you. Grasses have evolved "simplified" flowers to eliminate this risk and maximize the potential for pollination. Smart grasses!

As well as the great citrusy flavour lemon grass imparts on food and beverages, lemon grass has been used in folk medicine around the world for centuries. In Brazil it is believed to by an anxiolytic and hypnotic plant, but anyone who has ever had Thai food or lemon grass tea could probably speak to the lack of both of these effects, even when the plant is consumed in large quantities or consumed in a more concentrated form like chewing the stem. In fact, no scientific studies have ever substantiated this claim. Lab studies, however, have shown that this plant has the potential to show some medicinal value. It does show cytoprotective and antioxidant properties, suggesting that this may somehow one day play a role in cancer prevention (no known method of exploiting antioxidants to either prevent aging or prevent the development of age-related cancers currently exists, no matter what anyone tells you). One of the chemicals in the extracted essential oils of lemon grass has been suggested to play a role as an antihypertensive, and in lab studies the pure form, called citronellol, has been shown to lower blood pressure in mice and rats so there is definitely the potential to use this chemical as a potential blood pressure herbal medicine. There have been very few reports of this plant being toxic to any kind of domestic animal (human or non-human pets), so you don't have to worry much if you grow your own lemon grass. Cats anyway will stay away from it because it smells like citrus; unless you've got an atypical cat, cats hate any kind of citrus. Lemon grass oil has been reported to cause mild skin rashes in people with sensitive skin, so if you have extremely sensitive skin be careful handling the fresh-cut plant.

Sometimes extracts from this plant are referred to by the commercial name "citronella," which many of you will recognize as an insect repellant. So does it work? In my experience, no. There is no amount of citronella that you can burn or put on your skin that will truly deter the bugs you are determined to deter: mosquitos (and sometimes deer flies and horse flies). You can never truly "deter" a mosquito. They are out for blood (literally), and "smell" you via the carbon dioxide in concentrated forms that you exhale (which you can't prevent yourself from doing) and by the chemicals you exude in your sweat. Deet is the only chemical that can truly make you "invisible" to mosquitos by camouflaging your scent and throwing off the mosquito's radar. Deet does wear off incredibly quickly, so if you're in an area with a high density of mosquitos you can essentially be guaranteed to be bitten anyway (especially if it's hot and you're sweating, effectively both increasing your hormonal signal to the mosquitos and washing off the deet at the same time). Some people are naturally more alluring to mosquitos because they give off more of the mosquito signal chemical, and so they require more deet more often (I am, unfortunately, one of those people...). By rubbing citronella all over yourself, you're just making yourself smell more like lemons than you are like a human. This can work for about 30 seconds to deter mosquitos, but it is not going to work in the long term. Sorry for ruining your day if you use citronella oil as a bug repellant and have been wondering why you still get bit all this time :)

Does this mean citronella NEVER works against deterring bugs? No, it doesn't mean that. Remember that essential oils produced by plants are secondary compounds usually used in plant defence? Well, it smells like lemons for a reason. Citronella IS actually an effective insect repellant; clinical studies have shown that it is nearly 100% effective in deterring fruit flies from a specific area where it is applied, and it doesn't have to be applied in large quantities. It also does a pretty effective job of deterring stable flies, which bite not only humans but also horses and cows if they get a chance (and these bites are incredibly painful, bloody, and result in enormous welts on the skin). Citronella oil definitely does have a good use in insect deterrence, just don't expect it to do anything for mosquitos!