Nymphaea ‘Arc-en-Ciel’, not to be confused with long-running Japanese rock group L’Arc-en-Ciel. Each seems to have liked the French translation of “The Rainbow” enough to claim it as a name.
Sorry for the blatant tease. Just wanted to pass along a reminder that the gem-like fruits and vegetables of our Greenmarket will be back on Wednesday (and every Wednesday from now through November). Okay, I’m not really sorry–I’m suffering the pangs of raspberry desire just like you are.
Echinacea may be synonymous with the health supplement aisle in your local organic market, but it gets its name from a far older comparison: the Greek word echino, which means “sea urchin.” That spiny head is a dead giveaway.
Echinacea purpurea ‘Rubinstern’ — Photo by Ivo M. Vermeulen
Daffodil Hill heads into summer with an air of Little House on the Prairie, I think. But no running through the fields, please–not even with overalls on.
Back in January, I began posting photos in a new series tentatively titled “Past in Focus.” I had an aim of seeking out archived Garden images and recreating those scenes as they exist now–to see in today’s landscape hints of the last century. The photographers and I made the decision to wait until the NYBG was in its full spring growth to set out, though; we figured the pictures would carry more drama and gravity if the contrasts ran high, and now that everything is lush and lively, we come to find out that our well-meaning plan wasn’t quite feasible the way we envisioned it.
Last week, Ivo, Mark and I set out with tripods, cameras, a stack of lenses and a crumpled sheaf of old photo copies in hand. I’m not exactly Man Ray, so the other two did the hard work while I tagged along as a notebook-wielding nuisance; certainly they knew the ins and outs of the Garden’s layout better than I did at this point. After only 10 or 20 minutes and a few head-scratching shuffles around the front of the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory, we were already stymied. Not only were the spring trees too leafy in places for us to tie in many of the landmarks seen in the original photographs, but the actual landscape of the Garden had changed. Hills had been raised, pathways rerouted, new collections added.
A spot of lily color (with a cultivar name I first mistook for ‘Pink Twinkie’) to distract you from the reality of a long week still ahead. This one’s chilling out in the Perennial Garden (also a decent place to escape workday doldrums).
Care to guess this edible? Er, soon-to-be edible. The species in question is native to China, and directly related to something many countries eat (or the song suggests we eat) during the holidays.
Castanea mollissima — Photo by Ivo M. Vermeulen
Give up? It’s the Chinese chestnut tree. In the U.S., American chestnuts (Castanea dentata) were devastated by the chestnut blight when it arrived from Asia, but this species evolved alongside the blight to be highly resistant to its effects. Now, scientists are making every effort to breed a deliberate hybrid with the tree size and nut qualities of the American species, and the resistance of the Chinese species.
And that whole thing about roasting chestnuts on an open fire? Mel Tormé wrote “The Christmas Song” in 1944, after finding his music partner’s scribblings of winter scenery on a spiral notebook. It was the middle of a miserably hot summer, and said partner had been trying to cool off by thinking of chilly weather. Might not hurt to try it now.