The maple of Black Friday

Species name: Acer nigrum

Common name: black maple

Location: Western University campus

What better way to celebrate the phenomenon that is Black Friday with a...black maple! You bet I've been holding off on this blog for weeks! For those of you not from the United States or Canada and who are unfamiliar with this "Black Friday thing," here's a brief run-down. Traditionally in Canada the day after Christmas is called Boxing Day. Truly, I have no idea what the history of Boxing Day is, but now it has morphed into the National Day of Shopping. Crazy people (like me) get up at 6 am in order to make it to the mall as soon as it opens, and every store has some kind of crazy sale. Boxing Day is one of my favourite days of the year since I love shopping, but I absolutely refuse to pay full-price for an item. Not to be outdone, the United States has Black Friday. Since Christmas isn't actually that big of a deal in the US (trust me, I'm surprised, too), Thanksgiving is their biggest national holiday (aside from possibly Independence Day in some areas), and it weirdly occurs on a Thursday. In order to "bridge the gap" between Thanksgiving and the weekend, the phenomenon known as Black Friday has evolved. That is the day that Americans get up ridiculously early and go shopping. And let me tell you: Black Friday deals in some stores are ridiculous. While I've never been to the States on a Black Friday (and never intend to go; the day is notorious for people getting trampled to death in order to get to the good deals first), I've heard some great stories of people scoring big-screen TVs for $32, or a brand new iPhone 5C for $49 with no contract. That's crazy! I have no idea whether Boxing Day or Black Friday came first, but I like to think Boxing Day did. Because I'm Canadian, and all good things are Canadian before Americans steal our ideas. Like basketball. And hockey.

Back to plants! The black maple is actually a "species" under furious debate amongst botanists, and the crowd is currently split about its species status. There are some botanists (that I like to think are in the majority, but I'm honestly not sure) that say the black maple is a good species and deserves its own Latin name. There's another group, however, that is absolutely convinced that it's merely a subspecies of the sugar maple, and should actually be called Acer saccharum subsp. nigrum. Unfortunately, should this prove to be the case, the black maple would lose all designation as a species and no longer be protected by any kind of Species At Risk legislation across all of North America, where it has its native range. To me, this would be tragic since I happen to really like black maples. But I do see where "the other side" is coming from: black maples and sugar maples readily hybridize with each other, their wood can be used for the exact same purposes in the lumber trade because they have the same grain qualities and the same chemical makeup (the same amount of lignin and cellulose, with the same type of ring structure), they can both be used to produce maple syrup (although, black maples much less so than sugar maples), and they have very similar maple key characteristics. The most notable difference is the shape of the leaves; the black maple leaf is much more rounded at the bottom than the sugar maple (which is nearly flat), the black maple leaf has only three main lobes with no minor lobes (the sugar maple leaf has three main lobes and two much smaller lobes at the base near the petiole), and the leaves of the black maple "droop" like they're always slightly dehydrated (while sugar maple leaves are flat and not droopy at all). In fact, the slightly floppy quality to the leaves is the reason why most black maples are accidentally massacred on residential properties. Because they always look like they're drought-stressed and need water, people who don't know that's what black maples look like normally drown them to death. The poor trees! And I will admit, until a few months ago I would have been in the "drowning the tree" boat. I always thought this poor tree needed some water (and since it is in the middle of an island in a huge parking lot, not getting much water is a very real possibility) and so likely would have drowned it, too, had I not been told differently. Now we all know. :)

So what are black maples good for, aside from maple syrup? Well, a lot if you ask the Ojibwa people. Not only did they boil the sap of the black maple to concentrate the sugars to use as a sweetener in cooking, but they also boiled the bark and drank the resulting liquid to treat diarrhea and to act as a diuretic. Neither of these uses have been evaluated in clinical trials. The branches of this tree can also be very straight, and so made good wood for arrows and were the preferred source for "arrow wood". The wood of the black maple is also easily carved, especially when young, and so was sometimes carved into elaborate shapes for ornamental pieces and for kitchen items like spoons and bowls.

If you went out to brave the crowds today, hopefully you managed to pick up something you liked and got a great deal!

The North American planetree

Species name: Platanus x acerifolia

Common name: London planetree

Location: Western University campus

As promised, this blog is about our version ("our" referring to the North American meaning of the term) of the planetree. Ironically enough, it's called the London planetree not after London, Ontario, but after London, England. A half-British, half-American name for a European species. Just when you thought common names couldn't get any more perplexing... :)

The planetree is a hybrid, which makes its native range essentially a moot point. But for the purpose of a species status diagram, it's a non-native species since the hybrid is rumoured to have been first discovered in Spain in the 1700s, but was first officially described by a Scot in 1789 as a variety of the Oriental sycamore, or Platanus orientalis. It was elevated to the status of species in 1805 by Willdenow (Platanus acerifolia), but it is now widely believed to be a hybrid of the American sycamore and the Oriental sycamore (sometimes called the Chinese sycamore or even the Oriental plane). It looks like an exact intermediary of the two species: has leaves with lobes not nearly as shallow as the American sycamore but more shallow than the Chinese sycamore, fruits in pairs instead of singly like the American sycamore (the Chinese sycamore usually has 3-6 fruits in a group), and light green inner bark unlike the white bark of the American sycamore and the much darker green bark of the Chinese sycamore. I love it when hybrids are a 50/50 blend of the parent species! It makes life so easy.

So why would you want to plant a hybrid species, when the American sycamore is a native species and looks pretty darn similar? Well, for one, the planetree is much more tolerant of urban conditions like pollution and root compaction, as well as being much more drought-tolerant and so doesn't require the riparian habitat that the American sycamore does. It also doesn't get nearly as large, which is often beneficial in cities (you don't exactly want a 5 meter in circumference tree growing between a sidewalk and a road). It is also much, much less susceptible to a fungal disease called anthracnose, which is quite common in American sycamores. So far it sounds like a pretty good compromise! Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. The planetree actually has a really nasty side to it in the spring: it is highly allergenic. The new growth of the tree produces tiny hairs on the surface of the leaves, the leaf buds, the branches, and the fruits. As the tree sheds these hairs while it matures, they blow off in the air and (usually) end up up your nose. Here, they attach to just about anything they can get ahold of, and trigger a severe immune response (this isn't just your typical pollen-allergy runny nose). Some people have even reported a skin response that looks like a second-degree burn as a result of coming into contact with many of these hairs (say, for example, grabbing onto a young branch in the spring) and the resulting rash is a hyper-immune response. This effect tends to decrease as the tree ages, but if you plant a young tree, be warned. Now that I know this, you won't catch me coming anywhere near one of these trees in the spring. I have really sensitive skin, and with my luck I'd be the one that ends up with giant pustules all over my hands and arms! The leaves are also difficult to deal with in urban settings as the leaves produced on mature branches are very thick and leathery. If left to rest where they fall, they can take years to start to decompose (unlike a few months like most leaves, which is why they make great compost starters and mulch). This means they are problematic to deal with in the fall clean-up to prepare streets for winter.

Planetrees are sometimes planted for lumber and logging purposes because of the very attractive wood (it's a light yellow wood with red flecks). In the lumber industry it's often referred to as Lacewood, and is used in wood trim or decorative panels in fine furniture.

Sandra's Garden: The Last One

Species name: Syringa vulgaris

Common name: lilac

Location: Sandra's garden

Lilacs are some of the most easily recognizable shrubs used commonly for ornamental purposes. They have large heart-shaped leaves (although, not all plants that have "lilac" as a common name have heart-shaped leaves...), purple to white flowers, and the flowers have *THAT SMELL* that you smell it once and you never forget it. To me, it smells exactly like Myrtle Beach in South Carolina because that's the first place I was ever made aware of the smell; I remember walking to the beach from the camp ground past what must have been lilac bushes and a pond with baby ducks and snapping turtles that would eat the ducks. Thankfully I never actually witnessed a duck being eaten or else it might have scarred me for life. But I feel like I remember there being pens that people would keep baby ducks in so the turtles couldn't get them. Maybe I'm just making things up...this was back when I was 5 or 6 years old. I can barely remember last week!

And back to lilacs. They are native to Europe, from Croatia east to Moldova and south to Albania and Bulgaria. They had been introduced to the rest of Europe centuries ago and lilacs are now considered naturalized to most countries throughout the continent. The earliest settlers to North America brought lilacs as ornamental species, and so they have also existed in North America for many, many years. They are also considered naturalized here (it's even the state flower of New Hampshire), and have very little chance of becoming invasive since so few of their seeds are fertile. Normally you'd think a plant wouldn't do very well in the wild if the majority of the seeds being produced wouldn't be able to grow a new seedling, but this is relatively common in ornamental species (especially shrubs) because of their history of domestication: it was recently discovered that lilacs are actually hybrids of two drastically different species. When you hybridize two species that are closely related sometimes you don't even notice a reduction in fitness (or a reduction in the number of viable seeds being produced, which is a reflection of the potential number of offspring a single shrub could produce, called "fitness"). When you hybridize two species that aren't closely related then usually this reduction in fitness is quite drastic, if the hybrid takes at all. This hybrid shrub was likely a natural hybrid when it was first produced, and was since propagated over time.

Pruning lilacs is an art form to make sure it keeps flowering. If you just whack off the entire shrub at ground level (strangely enough, a "hard prune" is recommended by most garden centres for lilacs at least once every three or so years), you'll get a very "spotty" flowering on your shrub; these plants flower best on old growth. If you're cutting it off all the time, you're eliminating the possibility of getting really showy lilac flowers in the spring. The other side to this story is that lilacs can grow quickly if in optimal conditions, and so they can get to be an enormous size if left unchecked for too long. Dead-heading branches where flowers have been after flowering but before developing seeds can remove the branch's ability to extend further while at the same time promoting flower growth in later years. Win-win! Something to keep in mind too is that lilacs flower best every other year. So if you get one bad year, don't fret! A good one is probably on its way the next year.

If you like the idea of a lilac but absolutely cannot risk having a non-native plant escaping from your yard into a natural area, you could always plant a "doubled" cultivar. These cultivars have been selectively bred to have their stamens (or the "boy parts" of the flower that produce pollen) replaced with petals, so there are eight petals in each flower instead of four. If a flower doesn't produce pollen it cannot produce seeds, so this is a great way of planting a lilac for the smell without worrying about the plant getting away from you.

Sandra's Garden: Vancouver's Centennial

Species name: Pelargonium x hortorum 'Vancouver Centennial'

Common name: 'Vancouver Centennial' geranium

Location: Sandra's garden

Geraniums themselves (not real geraniums, of course, but Pelargonium plants) are incredibly popular garden plants around the world. I've blogged about a red-flowering cultivar already, and you can read all about it HERE. This cultivar, however, is a special type of hybrid that has then been selectively bred for leaf shape and leaf colour. The first time I had ever seen this specific cultivar was in Sandra's garden. Since then, I've seen it literally everywhere I've looked. Isn't it funny how things like that happen? Someone brings your attention to something, then you start noticing it a lot more often.

Contrary to what you might think, this cultivar was not created in Canada (despite being named after Canada's famous Vancouver, not one of the United States' many, many Vancouvers) but in the United States. Rumor has it that it was named in honor of Vancouver's 100th birthday, which would have officially been in 1986 (the city was officially incorporated using the name "Vancouver" in 1886; prior to that it was Gastown which was settled in 1867 and grew to become the town of Granville until the renaming in 1886). I'm not sure if this is true or not, but a nice story. The leaf shape was selected by growers to minimize the "frilling" that can be seen in most geranium cultivars, and the leaf colour was selected based on the maximum amount of red that could be bred into the plant until it was no longer healthy and couldn't survive. Leaves are green for a reason; the pigments in the leaves responsible for photosynthesis (the creation of sugar from carbon dioxide, water and light energy) end up giving the leaf its green colour. If you maximize the amount of pigments other than chlorophyll you end up decreasing the plant's ability to make its own sugar, resulting in a weakened plant. At the end of the day, the amount of green and reddish pigment balance that optimized a visually-pleasing leaf but also enough green to maintain the plant's photosynthetic ability was about half-and-half: the green around the border of the leaf and the red on the inside. The decreased frill also ended up with a leaf that is strikingly similar to a maple leaf, giving this plant its other common name: the maple-leaved geranium.

Like many non-native plants, this cultivar of geranium is incredibly slow-growing (which is unlike many of its relatives which are fast-growing) and very sensitive to too much and too little water. Until the plant becomes established in the soil, periods of drought can be seriously detrimental to the health of the plant. Once established, flooding and standing water are its biggest enemies. Surprisingly, this cultivar is much more cold-tolerant than its relatives so will last further into the fall than the average geranium will. It is still frost-sensitive and definitely won't tolerate snowfall or freezing, so there is no need to worry about the potential for becoming invasive (at least in Canada).

The afternoon primrose

Species name: Primula sp. (a garden hybrid of unknown origin)

Common name: primrose

Location: Ontario

Primroses are another great example of why I hate common names. The evening primrose (profiled in a blog post that you can read HERE), is completely unrelated to species in the genus Primula, also called primroses. Sure, they look a little similar (perhaps not the evening primrose compared to this garden hybrid, but some other Primula species), but that's about it. Species of primrose in this genus are native to a wide variety of locations on almost every continent (Australia seems to be excluded from the list) but with the vast majority of the species in the genus native to the Himalayas. Since this garden hybrid (which is actually quite commonly grown) has an unknown parentage, meaning the two or more species that were hybridized to create this cultivar, so I decided to play it safe and call it a non-native species.

I think this species illustrates the concept of a weed perfectly. There is no real definition of a "plant weed," nor are there truly good examples of weed species at least in the common sense of the word. A weed is simply a plant that is growing in a place that we don't want it growing. A plant that is purposefully planted in one garden might be their next-door neighbour's weed. You can probably guess that most weeds are non-native species, only because those are the plants that are most likely to out-compete their neighbours since there are no pathogens to keep their populations in check. This primrose is a great example of a weed in our garden. I have no idea who planted it in the neighbourhood, but one spring it all of a sudden showed up. I ripped it out, but not until after it had gone to seed so now it comes back every year. I wish if it was going to grow it would do it more quickly and make a nice little patch of it that we could put a fence around to keep it contained, but it seems to like being the size that it is (about 10 cm x 10 cm and 4-5 cm tall). I'll refrain from pulling it out this year and see what happens.

I don't think it should come as a surprise to any of my faithful blog readers that I'm a bit of a skeptic when it comes to classification of species. This is probably because of the results I've found in my own work: apparently we're not very good at defining species of fungi at all, and many things that we thought were "species" are only morphological variants. Even more numerous is the trend the other way: many things that we thought were morphological variants are actually species. It's amazing what happens when you start to sequence a group's DNA and analyze the relationships between species! The genus Primula is a great example of this. There are over 500 species in the genus, some of which are so drastically different morphology-wise (and even habitat-wise, which should tell you something about their evolutionary relationships...) that I find it incredibly hard to believe they're in the same genus. With a more thorough investigation of these 500 species and a comprehensive analysis of the group's evolutionary relationships, it wouldn't surprise me if Primula ended up being divided into 25 or more separate genera. Might even be a fun post-doctoral fellowship... :)

Internationally primrose species have been used as medicinal plants for centuries. In fact, they have so many uses that they just might be a miracle plant should all of these uses prove to be effective in clinical trials. The roots of the plants are prepared in either a salve or a tea to treat any kind of cough (pneumonia, bronchitis, common cold, emphysema, etc.), the leaves are used in a tea to treat any kind of head-related ailment (dizziness, headache, stroke, sleeplessness, paralysis, etc.) and the flowers as a vitamin supplement (rumoured to contain high amounts of vitamin A and vitamin C) as well as any kind of digestive-related problems (diuretic, spasmolytic, and sedative). That's a whole bunch of uses for one tiny plant! I find it hard to believe that it could be effective against everything that might ever ail you, but you never know. With a species diversity in the genus argued to be at 500 species, if each one had a single use that's a whole lot of uses! It's also a good example of a general rule in botany and "plant gathering as agriculture": don't ever eat anything or use something as a medicinal plant if you're not absolutely sure about the intended use. If you use the wrong primrose, your headache might turn into a dizziness spell or convulsions!

When a flower isn't a flower: part 1

Species name: Bougainvillea spectabilis

Common name: bougainvillea, Napoleon, veranera, trinitaria (amongst others)

Location: Dominican Republic

Bougainvilleas are some of the most well known and well recognized tropical plants in the world. They originated from a relatively small band of South America, extending from Brazil west to Peru and south to Chile and Argentina. Depending on who you ask, there are between 4 and 18 species in the group (18 species is probably an over-estimation due to morphological variation displayed even in a single group of individuals, but I doubt there are only four species since diversity of plants in the tropics is so high). DNA sequence analysis definitely needs to be performed on this group to help not only with defining diversity, but also establishing if any of these populations (however isolated) are their own species and hence are in dire need of protection and conservation. One of the reasons why this is such a popular "resort plant" in tropical countries is because of its extreme ability to tolerate salt (it can tolerate being watered with seawater! That's salty!) it makes for an ideal ornamental species where salt spray (and periodic flooding due to storm surges) is common.

The "flowers" of the bougainvillea plant are great examples of how plants can entice animals into believing that they produce these large, showy flowers, but in reality produce small, barely noticeable flowers and fruit. The pink "petals" that many people believe to be the flowers aren't at all; they're just modified leaves containing pink pigments instead of green ones that act to attract pollinators (we call these bracts). The flowers themselves are the small white bits on the inside; there are usually three white flowers surrounded by three to six bracts. The bracts can be white, yellow, orange, red, pink, purple, green, or any colour inbetween. The only colour of bougainvillea bract that I don't think exists is blue; feel free to correct me if you've ever seen a blue one! There are over 300 different varieties of bougainvillea sold as ornamental plants, so it wouldn't surprise me if it had been "invented". Not only have there been hundreds of cultivars and varieties created through selective breeding, but bougainvilleas also naturally hybridize in the wild. There is even a population of plants in Peru, once thought to be a distinct species, that is a hybrid of two commonly found species. What's unusual about this hybrid population isn't the fact that it's a population of hybrid plants, it's where the parental plants are located. And that's nowhere near this hybrid population. There's no documented evidence, either, that either of the parent plants of this hybrid ever existed in this area of Peru. So how did they get there? Is this evidence of "early gardening" by native Peruvians? Is this evidence for population reduction in both parental species of bougainvillea? Can the seeds really be carried that far? Is there an animal vector (or was there an animal vector) that eats the fruit to disperse the seeds that we don't know about? Some fascinating questions with (so far) no conclusive answers.

Other than the ornamental value, this plant has no other uses to humans. The sap of the plant to some people is highly irritating to the skin; in people who are highly sensitive to the sap the reaction can be as extreme as it is to poison ivy. Other people either don't react at all or react with a slight rash and a mild itching. Luckily, unlike with poison ivy, a cut portion of the stem must come in prolonged contact with the skin in order to cause a reaction. This means that you should only be worried if you have been given the task of pruning a patch of bougainvilleas; if you have, make sure you wear a long-sleeved shirt and gloves and you'll be fine. This is also a very popular plant to turn into a bonsai (although, a different species is often used; B. glabra). The bougainvillea is the national plant of Guam, as well as the regional flowers of regions in China, Japan, Taiwan, Malaysia, Philippines, and the United States.

Stay tuned for part 2 of "When a flower isn't a flower" tomorrow, featuring one of the most commonly purchased plants for ornamental, indoor use.

Orange you glad I didn't say banana?

Species name: Citrus x sinensis, C. medica x C. maxima x C. medica

Common name: sweet orange, ponderosa lemon

Location: UWO Greenhouse

Any kind of citrus is interesting; very few of the types of citrus we grow around the world are pure species and almost all of them are hybrids. The sweet orange, perhaps the most common and the most widely recognized type of citrus fruit around the world, is a hybrid between the pomelo and the mandarin orange (but determining the exact parental lineages are difficult). The only citrus fruits that are pure species are the pomelo, the Mandarin orange, the key lime, citron (not lemons!), Australian limes (3 species), kumquats, and Indian papedas (4 species). Of those 12 species in total, almost 100 hybrids exist that are used for various purposes around the world. An incredible amount of diversity from a small number of species!

The orange is native to Southeast Asia and has been cultivated in China for more than 2500 years. There have been hundreds of varieties developed since then around the world, ranging in habitat from Florida and California all the way to their native range in China. The ponderosa lemon, which apparently makes amazing lemon meringue pies (sweeter than regular lemons, so less sugar is needed in the filling), is native to Maryland in the United States, where it is thought to have originated from a chance hybrid seedling.

Citruses are all genetically very similar, since they originate from such a small gene pool (despite having an enormous amount of morphological variation). This means that many hybrids are all susceptible to the same diseases, and the disease illustrated on both the ponderosa lemon and the oranges is something citrus farmers struggle with every growing season. It's called the citrus canker, and is caused by the bacterium Xanthomonas. It has no effect on humans, and other than affecting the appearance of the fruit it is perfectly edible when it's just the small black spots. Larger black spots can make the fruit inside a bit squishy, but there is no danger in eating it. Unfortunately for the citrus tree, it's not so lucky. When the canker infects the leaves it can cause them to fall off before they are ready, which decreases the ability of the tree to photosynthesize. Less photosynthesis means less sugar production, and a lower fruit yield. Entire groves have been destroyed trying to eradicate the disease, but it can persist in the soil so these attempts have not been successful. On top of suffering from early frosts in recent years, the United States orange industry is suffering from a dramatic reduction in yield in orange groves because of the citrus canker. Does this mean Tropicana orange juice will eventually be produced from oranges grown outside of North America? It's hard to say for sure, but we have reached the point where we need to find a better solution to the problem or else we might lose some citrus hybrids forever. The grapefruit is the most susceptible of any Citrus species, and will probably be the first to disappear.

Tropical pitcher plants

Species name: Nepenthes sp. (a hybrid)

Common name: pitcher plant, monkey cup

Location: UWO Greenhouse

This species of pitcher plant is tropical in origin from somewhere in the Old World Tropics (the complete range of all of the species of Nepenthes is included at the bottom of the blog post courtesy of Wikipedia). The label on the plant says it's a hybrid Nepenthes, but the label corresponds to a hybrid that looks nothing like the pot hanging in the greenhouse. Perhaps the pictures on the internet are wrong...there aren't many of them. For now it's probably just safe to say it's a hybrid and leave it at that. Nepenthes species (there's about 140 of them worldwide) are almost all threatened, endangered or critically endangered. There are only a small handful that the IUCN and CITES consider of "least concern," but there are also quite a few that are considered "data deficient." For those of you considering going to graduate school, here's a project idea: catalogue the pitcher plants in Borneo and Sumatra, and come up with a monitoring program that involves going back into the bush and re-counting populations every year to judge reproductive abilities of a single plant and of a colony, plus motion-sensor video monitoring of the traps for what they're catching and what's consuming or destroying the plants. Mix that with cataloguing indigenous knowledge of the pitcher plants and what they're used for, and you've got yourself a PhD! I wish I had of thought of it sooner...sounds like an awesome time.

I profiled a native Canadian species of pitcher plant a while back (for a refresher, you can read all about it HERE), and if you remember what that species looked like you can see that the pitcher traps or pitfall traps are very different than what grows from Nepenthes plants. First of all, Sarracenia traps grow on the ground with the rest of the plant in boggy, swampy areas while Nepenthes grow in rocky, mountainous areas and the traps hang off of the leaves. The traps of the North American pitcher plant have curled lips that funnel rainwater into the trap (and is also very slippery to funnel bugs in, too), while the Asian species have a lid to prevent rain water from overflowing the trap and shelters the traps from falling debris. And the best part? The two groups aren't related to each other at all! The pitfall trap has evolved at least two separate times over evolutionary history, each time converging on what, today, looks like a nearly identical structure. The functions are identical as well; both groups have traps to catch insects to digest, but also act as vital breeding habitats for insects with aquatic larvae like mosquitos.

One of the biggest differences between the two groups, and the main characteristic that should lead you to believe that the two groups aren't related, is how the traps are formed. In Sarracenia, the traps are basically the leaves. The traps start to grow out of the rosette stem (a stem that is very reduced in size, and never reaching very high above the surface of the ground; the leaves and other plant organs radiate out from this point like the petals of a rose) as photosynthetic organs, and start to produce digestive liquid on the inside once mature. If the plant is going to produce normal leaves, they are completely separate structures that grow out of the rosette at the base of the plant. In Nepenthes, the traps actually grow off of the already-existing leaves. The leaf grows out of the stem rosette, photosynthesizes for a while, the starts to grow this long projection from the tip of the leaf. This projection continues to grow for up to 2 meters, eventually developing into a trap at the tip. Once the liquid inside the trap has been consumed by digested prey and the plant has absorbed all of the released nutrients, the trap and the entire leaf dies and falls off (very similar to the way that a Venus fly trap operates).

If you would like to start a Nepenthes collection in a greenhouse or in your home, it's entirely possible. There are enormous collections of these species in greenhouses around the world, and new cultivars and hybrids are being created every few years. The trick is how the plants were obtained. Collecting seeds and propagating the plants from seeds is illegal according to international biodiversity laws. If you are caught doing that, or caught with plants propagated this way, you may go to jail. This probably wouldn't be good, so make sure you know where your plants are coming from. The good thing is that the leaves readily regrow plantlets in tissue culture when exposed to the right hormone concoction (many plants are grown in tissue culture; tobacco being the most common). This means that only a tiny portion of a leaf is needed to grow the first plant (less than a square centimetre), and all other plants can be made from this parent plant. The downside is that all plants are clones, but if you're just growing it inside it doesn't matter much. If you're growing them to replant in the wild, this would be an enormous problem because of pathogen threats to genetically uniform populations. Make sure you ask your source of Nepenthes how they were grown and where they were collected from! If the person doesn't know, don't buy it.

The native habitat distribution of species of Nepenthes (courtesy of Wikipedia)

The mighty white oak

Species name: Quercus alba (hybridized with...?)

Common name: white oak

Location: Ontario

I took this photograph of a white oak on campus, and I doubt it's a "pure" white oak. The swamp oak (which you can read about HERE) and the white oak are not only very closely related species, but they also readily hybridize. For anyone to sell a "pure" white oak, I would like to know how they did it. Collecting acorns in the wild and growing up trees in a nursery (then repeatedly harvesting nursery acorns and replanting to grow up your stock) will almost always result in hybridized white oaks. And if the tree nursery also grows swamp white oaks, they've compounded their problem. In fact, oak pollen is so light and can travel so far on wind currents that you don't even have to know where a swamp oak or a white oak are to get them to hybridize. Like the issue with the Freeman maple (which you can read about HERE), once these two species hybridize they often get intermediate features, or a "blending phenotype." Oak pollen is actually one of the leading causes of seasonal allergies in the spring. Anyone living near an oak tree can attest to this; my dark grey car often takes on a yellow tinge because of our big red oak growing in the front yard.

The white oak, no matter its genetic background, has been used for centuries as one of the most prized woods in the world. Because of the structure of the cells in the wood, it is completely watertight when used for making furniture or other items. These same cellular structures make it rot-resistant, which is why it is so popular in the use of barrel construction; the liquid won't leak out of the barrel, and if it does start to become saturated with the liquid inside it won't rot and release the contents. Not cracking and breaking apart is probably preferred during the alcohol aging process! It's not just wine that's stored in oak barrels, but also rum and whiskey. Since some rums are aged for 20 years or more (an Appleton Estates rum to be released this year is a 75 year aged rum, all done in oak barrels), putting them in a barrel that's likely to rot or leak is probably not preferred! The watertight and rot-resistant characteristics also make oak a popular wood historically for shipbuilding and agricultural construction (both equipment and barns).

On the inside of homes, oak is a popular wood for visible finishings. Sometimes cabinets are made out of a different kind of (cheaper) wood, then the front facings are oak. Oak flooring is also incredibly popular, and often it's even stained to resemble other, more expensive woods (like cherry, walnut or mahogany). In fact, most mahogany flooring sold today in Canada is just white oak wood stained a reddish colour, since international trade treaties have been signed preventing the import of South American tropically-grown mahogany wood into Canada. Since the term "mahogany" doesn't actually apply to any one species of tree (unlike wood from black walnut, white oak, sugar maple, white pine, etc.), that eliminates many options for sourcing mahogany! While I'm sure mahogany is incredibly popular to use for fine furniture and household finishings, South American rain forests are being eliminated at an alarming rate for both the international wood trade, and conversion to the North American style of farming (higher productivity for a few years, but then a drastic decline in productivity due to the low level of nutrients in the soil). By preventing the import of these trees, we are doing our part in attempting to conserve the tropical forests in South America.

There are some notable famous white oaks across the United States. The first isn't one tree, but actually an entire grove of white oak trees. The USS Constitution is made entirely of white oak, and whenever parts of it need to be replaced they come from a grove of trees called Constitution Grove near Bloomington, Indiana. The states of Connecticut, Maryland and Illinois have all made the white oak their state trees, with one specific oak representing the honorary tree of the state. The Charter Oak in Connecticut is even featured on the back of their state quarter (which I, of course, proudly own since it features a botanical design). The honorary state tree of Maryland, the Wye Oak, was one of the oldest living trees in the United States until it was destroyed in a storm in 2002. In Illinois, they couldn't decide which tree they liked better to serve as their honorary white oak so they picked two; the first is on the front lawn of the governor's house, and the second is in a school yard. The new largest living white oak is the Linden Oak, also located in Maryland.

Once upon a time Freeman made a maple

Species name: Acer x freemanii

Common name: Freeman maple

Location: Ontario

Technically speaking, the Freeman maple isn't actually a species at all, but rather a hybridization between a red and a silver maple that happens often in nature when the two species are present in the same location (which is often; their native ranges overlap almost completely). Depending on whether it's silver maple pollen or eggs, you can get drastically different phenotypes (or appearances of the tree). I'm betting that this tree was produced as a result of red maple pollen and silver maple ovules (eggs); the characteristics of this tree are almost identical to the silver maple except for the bright red petiole of the leaf. In fact, this tree is labeled as a silver maple on campus, but I have my doubts. If it was truly a silver maple with no hint of a hybrid, it would have green petioles and would be turning a yellow-green in the fall, not red.

So why would you want to hybridize a red and silver maple? Well, the silver maple grows very quickly, and so provides shade to an area faster than a red maple would which is often a desirable outcome of planting a tree. The downside of the silver maple is that their roots can often be quite invasive. They don't grow very deeply into the soil, and can bubble up concrete or asphalt easily which is not always a desired outcome. The red maple has much deeper roots that don't creep along the soil surface, so there is less of a chance of destroying nearby sidewalks, roads or driveways. The wood of the silver maple is also incredibly brittle. Normally this doesn't matter since many people enjoy the tree and not the lumber at the end of the day, but silver maples also have another dirty secret: they're almost always hollow due to heart rot (a fungal disease where the fungus targets the old, dead wood on the inside of the tree that is used for support). This is great for wildlife who require hollow trees to nest, but terrible for your house or garage during a wind storm; trees shown on TV that have crushed cars or houses after a violent storm (not a tornado) are often silver maples. This doesn't happen with red maples. Their wood is much more durable, and they are less likely to get heart rot and so are less likely to be destructive during a bad storm. The last reason why you might want to hybridize the two species is because of the aesthetic factor; bright red petioles are much prettier than just plain old green ones. Depending on the number of generations since the initial hybridization, the leaves might also turn a brilliant yellow-orange during the fall instead of the silver maple's boring yellow-green. You never quite achieve the neon red of the red maple's fall coloration, however.

The story of the Champlain rose hybrid

Species name: Rosa "Champlain" (see hybrid discussion below)

Common name: the Champlain landscape rose

Location: Ontario

At the beginning of June I blogged about a rose that we have in our garden, the pink Damask rose. I discussed the modern uses of roses aside from their ornamental use, which you can read all about HERE. One aspect of ornamental roses that I wanted to discuss, is the point that humans go to great lengths to achieve what we consider beauty in nature. This unsuspecting hybrid cultivar, which my neighbours have planted in their garden, is a perfect example of this never-ending pursuit of beauty. In the genus Rosa, there are somewhere between 100 and 150 different species depending on what expert you consult, with each one having drastically different characteristics. If we could find a way to select characteristics from each species to display in different hybrids, we could (in a way) "create" hybrids that would be very successful garden plants. Which we did. Approximately 5000 different times. Yes, there are an estimated 5000 different cultivars of roses of varying hybrid origins. Isn't that incredible?! That's a boatload of determination. So what went into making this hybrid?

To make the Champlain landscape rose, the series of steps to get from beginning to the end product that's planted in my neighbour's garden is no less complicated from start to finish or finish to start. So to be different, let's start with the end product: to create a Champlain hybrid, you must hybridize a Hybrid Tea rose with a Floribunda rose. Seems easy enough.

But, of course, it's not that easy. Because each of those are hybrids within themselves. The Floribunda rose is a hybrid between two different rose species, Rosa chinensis (China rose) and Rosa multiflora (multiflora rose). Easy enough! To get a Hybrid Tea rose, you need to cross a Hybrid Perpetual with a Tea rose. Interesting.

How do you get a Tea rose? This is a hybrid of two rose species, Rosa chinensis and Rosa odorata (scented rose). Again, easy enough. To get a Hybrid Perpetual rose, this is where things start to get a bit muddy. Making a Hybrid Perpetual, an incredibly popular garden rose because of its continuous flowering during the spring, summer and early fall, is incredibly complicated because it's made up entirely of recessive genes. Since most of these genes also carry disease susceptibility depending on species, you need to pick and choose what genes you get from which species. The easiest way to do this? Cross more hybrids to make second-generation hybrids! Yay! So a Hybrid Perpetual rose is created by crossing, in some seemingly random order, Hybrid China roses, Hybrid Bourbon roses, and Hybrid Noisette roses.

Alright, this is starting to get ridiculous. Because now we've got three more hybrids that we need to figure out how to make before we can even begin. To get a Hybrid Noisette, you have to cross Rosa moschata (Musk rose) with Rosa chinensis. To get a Hybrid China, you have to cross various cultivars of Rosa chinensis (can you see why I'm not a rose breeder now? This is giving me a headache). And last but not least, to get a Hybrid Bourbon you have to cross a Damask rose with one very specific cultivar, the "Old Blush" China rose (Rosa chinensis).

This brings us to our last hybrid cross, getting that Damask rose back that I first blogged about: a hybrid between Rosa moschata and Rosa gallica (French rose). Oh, what fun!

So to sum up, the species that go into making the genetic background of one cultivar of Hybrid Landscape rose are: Rosa chinensis, R. multiflora, R. odorata, R. moschata, and R. gallica in what seems like no less than one hundred steps. This doesn't even include the number of times a rose breeder had to cross different Hybrid Landscape roses together to get this specific flower colour, leaf colour, glossy leaves, red border around the leaf edge, red twig coloration, disease resistance, cold tolerance, and odor level. If this sounds like fun to you, perhaps you should strongly consider a career in rose breeding! There are about 5 companies that are giants worldwide for hybrid rose production, and I'm sure they're constantly looking for new staff. I'm not sure what would happen first: a new marketable rose cultivar or insanity...