Even as big weekends go, this is a big weekend. The Enid A. Haupt Conservatory has gone through a complete metamorphosis over the past several weeks, with a dedicated team of horticulturists primping and preening a luxurious display thousands of orchids strong. As of tomorrow, Patrick Blanc’s careful designs will finally come to light for our guests to enjoy.
Beginning tomorrow, March 3, the doors of the tenth annual Orchid Show (yes, an entire decade) swing open to reveal the French master’s creations to the world. Everyone in New York should see this! Visit the Garden to find yourself surrounded by the artful flowers of the tropics, a virtual architecture of exotic leaves, petals, and vines swirling in and amongst each other. The diversity of orchids that now floods the space in sprays of color is impressive on its own, but the arrangement is simply breathtaking.
Vertical walls of orchids, mosses, and other plants are going up–straight up–for the annual Orchid Show in the Enid A.Haupt Conservatory. Even after ten years, it’s like no other orchid show we have ever seen. Thousands of plants are being suspended on towering, grid-like structures that surround the walkways. We experienced a whole new way of seeing and appreciating the flowers and colors in a kind of woven hanging tapestry. Surely this show will give new meaning to the term “air plants”–a term often applied to orchids and other epiphytes.
Strange how a hue so ubiquitous in the plant world can have such a striking effect when painted on a flower. The green-yellow chartreuse color seen in this hellebore is so named for its resemblance to the centuries-old liqueur of the same name made by the Carthusian monks of France. Maybe a useless crumb of trivia now, but imagine how many miles you’ll get out of it during pre-dinner aperitifs.
Helleborus x nigercors ‘Honeyhill Joy’ — Photo by Ivo M. Vermeulen
February 5, 2012; Isla Londonderry, Puerto Fortuna, approximately 54º54’S, 70º26’W
Last night after dinner, I stood under the tarp that tents the hold where our dryers are kept, listening to the rain. Juan came out and said, “You enjoy this weather!” I looked at him quizzically, and he continued, “I can tell by the expression on your face.” And you know what? It’s true! I love bad weather–maybe not snow, it’s too soft–the aural component is critical. As long as I can remember I have loved rainy days, and the local version with sleet only adds to my delight. And a good thing too!
After everyone has been dropped off to their collecting sites, a big storm begins to roll in
This morning we moved to another harbor on Isla O’Brien. The weather forecast was not encouraging. However, the sun kept trying to come out, and all day it shone brightly, on and off, but only for a few minutes at a time. In this region, the weather is a losing battle. Those little bursts of sunshine provided momentary false hope in a day that ended up being dominated by sleet. In between the bouts of sun, the clouds would thicken, the wind would blow, and the sleet would pelt us relentlessly. Thank the heavens for good rain gear!
Look at the maidenhair tree and you’ll see nothing worth taking to the salon. You may see “duck feet” in the leaves, as some Asian cultures have, but certainly no flowing mane of vegetal locks. Botanical nomenclature is a lot like the horse racing circuit in that regard–every so often you stumble over a designation that makes not even a whit of sense. Thus, to explain the common name of Ginkgo biloba, we need to think smaller.
“Fern” small, actually. The humble maidenhair fern (Adiantum aethiopicum happens to be sitting on our window sill), with its cascades of dainty green leaves, is the true point of origin for the towering ginkgo’s street moniker. And if you compare the two, you’ll see what many would call a family resemblance (if the ginkgo were directly related to anything else on this planet; it’s not). Each has leaves resembling the foot of a waterfowl. So why aren’t they named as such? To answer that, we look even further down.
It’s the second-to-last week of the Caribbean Garden Photography Contest, and the images keep rolling in in all their beautiful, creative glory! There’s still time to submit your photos, though it’s now too late to take new pictures. Full details are here. Without further ado, here are this week’s winners!
As we near the 10th anniversary opening of the NYBG‘s yearly Orchid Show, we begin looking at the work of French designer Patrick Blanc, the mind behind the elegant and awe-inspiring living architecture being raised for this year’s exhibition. Of course, his efforts in the botanical field extend well beyond the complex aesthetics of his world-famous “green wall” creations. As one of the most renowned plant hunters to have traveled abroad, his global gallivanting yields many an interesting result for the scientific community.
2011 brought with it an important milestone for Dr. Blanc: a plant named in his honor. Previous adventures into the Philippines had yielded rumors of an elusive, undescribed foliage growing in the jungles there, a plant that the local population had no name for. With a team of fellow researchers and a group of field guides, he set off on a journey to the sweltering jungles of the island province of Palawan to locate it, and discovered what was proven to be a begonia. Blanc’s background as a specialist in understory rainforest plants made this a particularly exciting discovery for the group.
The soft face of the camellia flower springs up so often on Plant Talk that I’m absolutely flabbergasted we haven’t taken a closer look at the genus before. In the fall, a few cultivars soldiered on past fluke blizzards and nippy temperatures to keep their flowers until November. And true to that form, the winter camellias have proven some of the earliest bloomers along the Ladies’ Border. I’d personally put them on the All-Star team of botanical beauties if we were ever so ridiculous as to create such a thing.
The colors and outline of this evergreen’s flowers play on the same aesthetic fascination that many find in cherry blossoms, or the Chinese plum–the camellia is a staple of Asian artwork. And rightfully so. The range of the genus extends from the Himalayas east through Japan, and south to Indonesia. From these regions it has inevitably spread, earning fame and adoration among horticulturists, with as many as 200 species establishing themselves for their ornamental value from one side of the world to the other. But as pageant-winners go, the camellia is especially talented.
Working alongside some of the world’s most talented and knowledgeable botanists tends to relate directly to the number of office plants that find homes on desks and window sills. Window Garden Wednesday exists to acquaint our readers with some of the folks who are often too busy in the field, lab, or conference room to spend time lurking on social media sites. (That’s our job.)
We continue the revival of Window Garden Wednesdays with a collection close to my desk. Not that I’m allowed to touch it. You see, this is the window garden of one Ann Rafalko, imperious (I jest) Director of Online Content for The New York Botanical Garden. She also happens to be my boss (or foreman, or warden–it’s really a matter of imagination paired with the general mood of the room on any given weekday).
Our humble copse of potted things here in Creative Services may not be particularly exotic or flamboyant, but it suits us just fine. So I’ll turn it over to Ann to explain just what it is we have lurking on the sill, how it got there, and perhaps the handful of miracles that must have fallen on our grim corner of the Library Building to keep these zombies of vegetation hovering in the realm of healthy.
Even as big weekends go, this is a big weekend. The Enid A. Haupt Conservatory has gone through a complete metamorphosis over the past several weeks, with a dedicated team of horticulturists primping and preening a luxurious display thousands of orchids strong. As of tomorrow, Patrick Blanc’s careful designs will finally come to light for our guests to enjoy.
