As a world-renowned neurologist and author, as well as a frequent contributor to The New Yorker, Dr. Oliver Sacks suffers no shortage of credentials. And yet, in 2000, an encounter with a group of dedicated fern enthusiasts at The New York Botanical Garden welcomed him into an arena where his relative inexperience proved a boon. Written during a two-week expedition in Mexico, Oaxaca Journal blends the esoteric minutiae of one of the world’s oldest plant groups with an exploration of culture, history, and modern adventure.
Oaxaca Journal overcomes the din of scientific jargon through the ease of Sacks’ prose. Even its simplistic approach to storytelling plays to the experience through the self-effacing charm of the author’s pen. His is a travel narrative without any particular direction, admittedly and unapologetically listing sidelong into the native–and at times gritty–reality of Mexican life, just as it charts a course for botanical relevance.
Dr. Roy Halling’s jet-setting ways are, while enviable, a product of necessity–the world’s most outlandish fungi won’t scribble themselves into the mycological register. But while his travels across the globe often carry him to dim conifer forests, sweltering jungles, and likely the grimiest reaches of the most foetid swamps, it was in a far less feral environment that Roy found his latest winning specimen.
While visiting Australia, Dr. Halling–the NYBG‘s resident Curator of Mycology–came upon a rather strange customer (though delightful to any mushroom fanatic) growing in a friend’s suburban Brisbane garden. It’s not altogether uncommon down under. However, seeing something so visibly sinister popping up alongside your vegetables here in the northeastern United States could be cause for confusion, alarm, fascination, or cries of impending apocalypse in the vein of Chicken Little. It’s just that odd-looking.
The bright patches of white squill frilling the borders of Wamsler Rock might be outgunning their snowdrop colleagues. They’re not coy about enjoying the sunlight. But when it comes to pronounceable names, these Russian natives take silver behind Galanthus.
Scilla mischtschenkoana ‘Tubergeniana’ — Photo by Ivo M. Vermeulen
There may be no sign of spring more qualified to herald new buds and blooms than the dewy face of a yellow daffodil. They’re poking up here and there throughout the Garden, where they might as well be waving picket signs announcing that “WINTER IS SPENT.”
In looking at the green walls that Patrick Blanc pulls from his imagination, you might regard each one as something similar to a painting. In a way, they are–they rely on careful color choices and shapes to create (in this case) an abstract flow. But depending on the artist you ask, the process of building a green wall can be far more organization-intensive.
Blanc’s Orchid Show creations–as with those he builds around the world–require planning. A lot of planning. Plants must be picked not only for their visual appeal but for the way they mesh with the rest of the leafy things on the wall. Sturdy, light-thirsty plants may need to sit higher up, while shade-loving species fit in lower on the totem pole to ensure each individual can thrive within the miniature ecosystem. There is nothing haphazard about the selections. And once Dr. Blanc has a solid idea of what he wants to fit into a given wall, he must then sketch out a blueprint using finely-delineated sections for each type of plant. This is how the swooping, soft-edged sections of color and texture come about.
Siberian squill (Scilla siberica) doesn’t actually grow in Siberia, oddly enough. But its cool blue petals are still paradoxically warm and welcome as winter nears its sign-off.
Instagram fans have flocked to this coy but colorful flower. (Thanks, Bergdorf's.)
Of all the flowers coloring the scenery of our Orchid Show, one in particular–technically not even an orchid–is drawing gasps and adoration in spades. Known as Medinilla magnifica to science (and the Showy Medinilla, or “Malaysian orchid” to everyone else), its bowing proliferation of pale pink flower clusters has found a home in botanical gardens throughout the world.
And you can have one at home if it suits you.
Contrary to its bold presentation, the Medinilla isn’t quite as rare or exotic as assumptions would suggest. It’s been raised successfully in conservatories from here to Belgium, where the late King Baudouin championed the flower through the latter half of the 20th century. So infatuated was he with this Southeast Asian native that it was placed on the country’s 10,000 franc note. But as a plant endemic to the small island of Luzon in the Philippines, Medinilla’s distribution in the wild has not proven broad enough to escape the consequences of horticultural fascination. It’s said that the demand of collectors has caused a decline in natural populations to such a degree that many believe the plant now exists only within the plant trade.
No, not the cherries you’re accustomed to. Cornelian cherries, rather. The Japanese cornel, brightly colored in its spot above the Peggy Rockefeller Rose Garden, not only gives us these flirtatious blooms in early spring, but cheerful red fruits later in the year.
As a world-renowned neurologist and author, as well as a frequent contributor to The New Yorker, Dr. Oliver Sacks suffers no shortage of credentials. And yet, in 2000, an encounter with a group of dedicated fern enthusiasts at The New York Botanical Garden welcomed him into an arena where his relative inexperience proved a boon. Written during a two-week expedition in Mexico, Oaxaca Journal blends the esoteric minutiae of one of the world’s oldest plant groups with an exploration of culture, history, and modern adventure.
