Permaculture Lessons, part two: Disabled Permaculture

This is a guest post by Laura-Marie River Victor Peace Nopales (see contact info below).


Hello! I made a guest post on Awkward Botany in March, introducing myself and my spouse, and talking a little about my life with permaculture. Permaculture is a way I learn about plants, love the earth, grow delicious foods, and connect with others. Permaculture has a community aspect, and respect for all beings is part of that. Permaculture is a great idea for disabled people.

Being disabled is a lot of work, and butting up against ableism all around is part of that. A default assumption many have, including many permaculture teachers, is that people are full of abundant energy and can live our values if we choose to. But being disabled means that what we want to do often isn’t the same as what we can accomplish. Disabled permaculture is a great take on permaculture that Ming and I have been doing together for 11 years of friendship and partnership.

Disabled permaculture is a valuable concept that many people can benefit from and customize to their own needs. Throughout this essay, I’ll mention many ways it helps me and Ming live a beautiful interdependent life.

how we’re disabled

My spouse Ming and I are both disabled. He has narcolepsy, so he falls asleep at unwanted times, doesn’t get restful sleep, and many aspects of life are impacted by his low energy and lack of wakeful cognition. Narcolepsy can contribute to struggles with memory, language, and reality comprehension. Ming also has a diagnosis of OCD.

Ming endures heartache trying to get his medical needs met, since a medication he uses for wakefulness is a controlled substance. The drug war plus health insurance nonsense means he has to jump through more hoops than anyone should need to, let alone a disabled person.

As for me, I have psychiatric diagnoses and hear voices, along with social differences and sensory sensitivities. Some terms that might apply to me are anxious and autistic. I like “crazy” as a reclaimed term, like queer and fat, which also apply. I have a schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type diagnosis. I was sedated on a bipolar cocktail for around 11 years.

how permaculture suits us

Permaculture is a helpful design system for disabled people such as ourselves. We have limited energy and fluctuating capabilities. Sometimes we’re not up for much. Permaculture is helpful as a realistic, forgiving, less energy intensive way of growing plants and doing community.

Permaculture is about working with the land forms and nature’s rhythms, not fighting against them. It’s observantly respectful to Mother Earth and one another.

A goal is to create food forests that are self-sustaining. We permaculturists like to take a long view, start small, design for resilience, and rest in hammocks. We create closed loop systems. It’s fun to consider the weaknesses of our systems’ interdependence and arrange backups for our backups, with layers of redundancy. Problems are seen as opportunities. We have a thing for hugelkultur. We enjoy rich diversity, especially at the edges.

image credit: wikimedia commons

Permaculturists love nourishing the land, with compost, generous mulching, water catchment in swales, and other ways of making the land more rich than the scraggly vacant lots and neglected yard space we arrived to. We like doing land justice, so inviting people in, opposing food deserts by sharing our bounty, organizing community gardens, and working together with locals.

We prefer collaboration over gentrification. Smiling, we get a lot of joy out of seed bombs, guerilla gardening wild areas, and having a lemonade party, when life gives us lemons and we make lemonade.

I’ve enjoyed gleaning fruit to share with Food Not Bombs, harvesting olives with neighbors, and lots of sheet mulching with discarded cardboard to unmake lawns. Permaculture has helped me by giving me a framework for the regenerative, earth-nourishing impulses that stirred within me already.

community and energy

If all of this sounds fun, that’s because it is. Why is permaculture especially good for people who are disabled?

Inviting people in and nourishing community means more people care about our garden, and are willing to step in when Ming and I are less out and about. Thank you to the kind community members who see what needs doing and are empowered to contribute to the thriving of garden life.

Also, permaculture is less energy intensive than other ways of growing plants. Long term solution is a relief. Food forests are like Eden. Creating and tending food forests means there can be a bit by bit accumulation of plants that work well together.

It’s not a stressful, all-at-once venture. There’s not the once or twice annual “rip everything out and start over” that I’ve seen other gardeners do. It feels relaxed and cumulative, good for a disabled pace.

When we have the energy and the weather is cooperative, we evaluate how the garden overall is doing. Do we have room for more herbs? Are enough flowers blooming to attract pollinators and keep them happy? What foods do we want to eat more of, in the next few months? Should we put sunflowers somewhere different this time? It’s unrushed, experimental, fun, and slow.

tree collards for disabled permaculture

The tree collards I mentioned last post are easier to grow than regular collards and kale. Let me tell you about these delicious leafy brassicas as a disabled permaculture example. Tree collards give tasty greens perennially, for years. We get a lot of delicious food from them!

Tree collards are easy to propagate. No need to buy or save seeds, then tend tender seedlings. Just break off a branch, stick it in the garden ground, make sure it stays moist for a few weeks, and hope for the best. It may root and start growing soon.

The tree collards we have are purple with the green. They’re gorgeous and can get lush in the winter. They’re tasty by themselves, sautéed with garlic, added to beans. We had some on our Passover Seder plate recently. When I cook rice, I might add a few tree collard leaves at the end to steam and greenly compliment my carbs.

When I make pesto, I throw in a few leaves of tree collard with the basil. When Ming is gardening, he often munches a few leaves. I smell them, pungent on his breath, when he returns indoors and kisses me.

It’s fun to give cuttings to friends and share the bounty. We talk about perennial vs annual and biennial. We talk about permaculture as an important guiding force in our disabled family. Even if the cuttings die, ideas and love were propagated. By sharing our values, we’ve inviting them into our life.

I like watching tree collards age, lean over, flower, die back, surge forth, reach for the sun. We keep them in our permaculture zone 1, right by our front door, as they are our darlings. They’re available to us all the time.

inevitable

Many people are disabled one way or another, and many people will become disabled, if lucky enough to live into old age. Disabled permaculture is a way most anyone can garden. The investment can be small and gradual.

Some people think of gardening as expensive, requiring tools and the building of raised beds, remaking the garden seasonally, and the accumulation of books and arcane knowledge. But permaculture is humble, less expensive, and becomes an intuitive part of life.

Our garden is not a separate thing that we can choose to do or not do, this spring. It’s always happening, like the other aspects of our creativity, our health, our family, and the cycles of nature.


Laura-Marie River Victor Peace Nopales is a queer trikewitch who enjoys zines, ecstatic dance, and radical mental health. Find her at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

Dispersal by Open Sesame!

In certain instances, “open sesame” might be something you exclaim to magically open the door to a cave full of treasure, but for the sesame plant, open sesame is a way of life. In sesame’s case, seeds are the treasure, which are kept inside a four-chambered capsule. In order for the next generation of plants to have a chance at life, the seeds must be set free. Sesame’s story is similar to the stories of numerous other plant species whose seeds are born in dehiscent fruits. But in this instance, the process of opening those fruits is fairly unique.

Sesamum indicum is a domesticated plant with a 5000 plus year history of cultivation. It shares a genus with about 20 other species – most of which occur in sub-Saharan Africa – and belongs to the family Pedaliaceae – the sesame family. Sesame was first domesticated in India and is now grown in many other parts of the world. It is an annual plant that is drought and heat-tolerant and can be grown in poor soils and locations where many other crops might struggle. However, the best yields are achieved on farms with fertile soils and adequate moisture.

image credit: wikimedia commons

Depending on the variety and growing conditions, sesame can reach up to 5 feet tall and can be unbranched or highly branched. Its broad lance-shaped leaves are generally arranged directly across from each other on the stem. The flowers are tubular, similar in appearance to foxglove, and are typically self-pollinated and short-lived. They come in shades of white, pink, blue, and purple and continue to open throughout the growing season as the plant grows taller, even as fruits formed earlier mature. The fruits are deeply-grooved capsules with at least four separate chambers called locules. Rows of tiny, flat, teardrop shaped seeds are produced in each chamber. The seeds are prized for their high oil content and are also used in numerous other ways, both processed and fresh. One of my favorite uses for sesame seeds is tahini, which is one of the main ingredients in hummus.

The fruits of sesame are dehiscent, which means they naturally split open upon reaching maturity. Compare this to indehiscent fruits like acorns, which must either rot or be chewed open by an animal in order to free the seeds. Dehiscence is also called shattering, and in many domesticated crop plants, shattering is something that humans have selected against. If fruits dehisce before they can be harvested, seeds fall to the ground and are lost. Selecting varieties that hold on to their seed long enough to be harvested was imperative for crops like beans, peas, and grains. In domesticated sesame, the shattering trait persists and yield losses are often high.

Most of the world’s sesame crop is harvested by hand. The plants are cut, tied into bundles, and left to dry. Once dry, they are held upside down and beaten in order to collect the seeds from their dehisced capsules. When harvested this way, naturally shattering capsules may be preferred. But in places like the United States and Australia, where mechanical harvesting is desired, it has been necessary to develop new, indehiscent varieties that can be harvested using a combine without losing all the seed in the process. Developing varieties with shatter-resistant seed pods, has been challenging. In early trials, seed pods were too tough and passed through threshers without opening. Additional threshing damaged the seeds and caused the harvest to go rancid. Mechanically harvested varieties of sesame exist today, and improvements in these non-shattering varieties continue to be made.

In order to develop these new varieties, breeders have had to gain an understanding of the mechanisms behind dehiscence and the genes involved in this process. This research has helped us appreciate the unique way that the capsules of the sesame plant dehisce. As in the seed bearing parts of many other plant species, the capsules of sesame exhibit hygroscopic movements. That is, their movements are driven by changes in humidity. The simplest form of hygroscopic movement is bending, which can be seen in the opening and closing of pine cone scales. A more complex movement can be seen in the seed pods of many species in the pea family, which both bend and twist as they split open. In both of these examples, water is evaporating from the plant part in question. As it dries it bends and/or twists, thereby releasing its contents.

dehisced capsules of sesame (Sesamum indicum); photo credit: wikimedia commons (Dinesh Valke)

The cylindrical nature and cellular composition of sesame fruits leads to an even more complex form of hygroscopic movement. Initially, the capsule splits at the top, creating an opening to each of the four locules. The walls of each locule bend outward, then split and twist as the seed falls from the capsule. In a study published in Frontiers in Plant Science (2016), researchers found that differences in the capsule’s inner endocarp layer and outer mesocarp layer are what help lead to this interesting movement. The endocarp layer is composed of both transvere (i.e. circumferential) and longitudinal fiber cells, while the mesocarp is made up of soft parenchyma cells. The thicknesses of these two layers gradually changes along the length of the capsule. As the mesocarp dries, the capsule initially splits open and starts bending outwards, but as it does, resistance from the fiber cells in the endocarp layer causes further bending and twisting (see Figure 1 in the report for an illustration). As the researchers write, “the non-uniform relative thickness of the layers promotes a graded bi-axial bending, leading to the complex capsule opening movement.”

All this considered, a rock rolling away from the entrance of a cave after giving the command, “Open sesame!” almost seems simpler than the “open sesame” experienced by the fruit of the sesame plant.

See Also: Seed Shattering Lost – The Story of Foxtail Millet

Permaculture Lessons, part one

This is a guest post by Laura-Marie River Victor Peace Nopales (see contact info below).


Hello, I’m Laura-Marie. I love plants, permaculture, and learning what grows wherever I find myself. This guest post is about the permaculture lessons I’ve learned gardening with my spouse Ming. Ming is a kind, brilliant person who enjoys interdependence, being a street medic, and helping our garden grow. He’s a long-time permaculturist with two permaculture design certificates.

I’ve studied permaculture for ten years. I enjoy it for many reasons: responsibility and interdependence of organisms, long view, appreciation of small. Thinking a lot about water storage, microclimates, and what makes sense for a particular place. That “you don’t have too many snails–you have too few ducks” mentality. Anything you have too much of to use can be pollution, even something usually considered good.

origins

Ming and I are both from California. We moved to this Las Vegas desert from Sacramento, which is at the north part of the Central Valley and inland from the Bay Area. I love Sacramento for its diversity of humans, plentiful parks, and proximity to many other wonderful places. Ming likes that it’s compact, but not too dense. Things are close together and easy to get to, but not overly scrunched up and piled on each other. 

Sacramento gets hot in the summers but cools off at night with a breeze from The Delta. There are rivers, a wet feel, many trees. We liked helping with Food Not Bombs and being part of the peace community there.

When Ming and I gardened in Sacramento, our relationship grew and changed as our plants grew. At Fremont Community Garden, I turned compost for the first time. I ate the most delicious Asian pears I’ve ever tasted and learned what espalier pruning is, for easy reach of fruits. 

I learned how to be a good garden neighbor. The man who grew long beans in the plot next to ours went on vacation and asked us to water his plot. Our reward was harvesting from his garden. I never knew green beans could grow like that, and so delicious.

In that climate and soil, the oregano we had in our herb spiral went wild, like mint does some places. It turned into a delicious weed, and we would harvest whole trays of oregano to deliver to a local restaurant in exchange for cookies and drinks. It was informative to watch the oregano choke out the tarragon, as the herb spiral spiraled out of control.

Our lavender bush got bigger and bigger–I liked my fragrant attempts to divide it, as I learned how to use a shovel. I enjoyed our basil forest, pinching its flowers, and seeing basil wood for the first time.

tree collards

Tree collards are a quintessential permaculture plant. People who want food forests do well to grow this charming perennial brassica. Ming and I grew lush, gorgeous tree collards in Sacramento. They are so productive and delicious to eat. I loved to make curried greens with beans, and I added ripped up tree collard leaves to a stir fry or any veg dish for more deliciousness. Yes, I adored those pretty leaves, whether they were green or purple.  

Our biggest, first tree collard we called Sideshow Bob. Its leaves floofed up like the hair of Sideshow Bob on the cartoon tv show The Simpsons. Sideshow Bob got infested with Harlequin bugs, and I learned how to save a tree collard from Harlequin bug infestation. Squishing around 300 Harlequin bugs between my gloved fingers and putting their bug bodies into a bucket of soapy water was a thought-provoking scene of carnage.  

What am I willing to do, to defend my favorite plant and meal ingredient? I considered what must die to keep my own body alive, what’s worth it. I miss those cute orange gardening gloves that I would never look at the same way again.

Sideshow Bob tipped over, and Ming found ways to support its “trunk” as it grew diagonally. It was fun to watch Sideshow Bob’s adjustment to sideways life, and we liked to give cuttings away.

Tree collards are easy to propagate, so we had several tree collard plants in our garden after some time. We brought one to my mom’s house and planted it at the edge of her garden. She lived in a different part of California, further south near the coast. Her tree collard flourished there. Every time we visited my mom, I felt excited to see how the tree collard had grown.

sharing

For a while we had two gardens. We had our plot at Fremont Community Garden, but we also lived in an apartment complex with shared beds.There were four beds when we got there, and then two more were added.  

We learned about sharing garden space with friends, including emotions, not wanting to encroach on someone else’s space, challenges of communication and expectations. I had a clump of rainbow chard that I loved to eat and watch grow. It got infested with aphids, but I was hoping to win that battle.  After some time, a well-meaning neighbor ripped it out, and I cried.

We learned how much space is the right amount, and which plants we like to eat grow well in Sacramento.  Tomatoes do well there.  I learned a permaculture lesson about the wave of energy: how having a high yield might not correspond to having enough energy to harvest it.  

One summer, so many cherry tomatoes grew that we couldn’t harvest them fast enough. Big changes were happening in the lives of everyone who lived in that apartment building, when the tomato plants were covered in hundreds of fruits. It was sad, not to have the capacity to share surplus with people in need.

There’s a mushroom farm in Sacramento that gave away spent substrate, which intrigued us.  We decided to try using substrate as mulch. “It could take nutrients from the soil, since it’s just sawdust.  Maybe this is a silly idea,” we wondered.  But we opened the bags and spread the sawdust on our garden beds, curious,

Then there was a rainy couple weeks in the winter, and we found ourselves with more oyster mushrooms than we could eat. They fruited out like mad. That felt magical and was a tasty experiment in trying something out just to see what happens.

promise

In future guest posts, I’d like to tell you what I’ve learned doing permaculture in the desert, and how doing permaculture as a disabled person is a great idea. Please let this post serve as an introduction to how my spouse Ming and I see plants and enjoy garden life.  

We enjoy new experiences, and we have a slow, grateful pace of loving the land. We love plants as food and sibling organisms on this beautiful earth.


Laura-Marie River Victor Peace Nopales is a queer permaculturist trikewitch who enjoys zines, ecstatic dance, and radical mental health. Find her at https://www.listeningtothenoiseuntilitmakessense.com.

The Wonderful World of Plantlets, Bulbils, Cormlets, Tubercles, and Gemmae

Probably the most well known strategy that plants have for dispersal is by way of seeds. Seeds are plants in embryo, and new generations of plants are born when seeds, released from their parent plants, find suitable locations to germinate. But one of the most amazing things about plants in general is that they have the ability to reproduce in a variety of different ways, and many plant species are not limited to seeds as their only means of dispersal. A paper by Scott Zona and Cody Coyotee Howard, published in Flora (February 2022), introduces us to the intriguing world of aerial vegetative diaspores – just one of the many ways that plants have to get around.

A diaspore is a plant structure that facilitates dispersal. Seeds are diaspores, as are spores, which are produced by non-seed bearing plants like mosses and ferns. If you’ve ever planted bulbs, you’ve handled another type of diaspore. Bulbs and corms, which many spring flowering plants are grown from, form little offshoots called bulblets and cormels that, when detached from their parent structure, can grow into new individuals. These vegetative diaspores are produced below ground. Aerial vegetative diaspores, on the other hand, are formed on above ground plant parts. This clunky term encompasses a number of different structures that are often simply called bulbils, which Zona and Howard explain is used as “a catch-all term that obscures their morphological identity.”

Compiling a list of plant species that feature aerial vegetative diaspores is a difficult task when plant descriptions from various sources use a broad selection of terminology for the same or similar plant parts. To help complete this task, Zona and Howard defined five distinct types of aerial vegetative diaspores – plantlets, bulbils, cormlets, tubercles, and gemmae – and came up with a list of 252 taxa that are known to feature at least one of these structures.

plantlets on the leaf margin of Kalanchoe daigremontiana (wikimedia commons; Aurélien Mora)

Plantlets are miniature plants attached to another plant. Once mature, they have clearly visible leaves, stems, and roots (or root initials) and are non-dormant, meaning they are ready to grow on their own as soon as they’re given the opportunity. The tiny plants borne along the margins of the leaves of mother of thousands (Kalanchoe daigremontiana) is a great example of a plantlet.

A bulbil consists of a shortened stem surrounded by scale leaves modified for food and water storage. Sometimes root initials are visible at the base of the bulbil. Bulbils remain dormant until they are dispersed and conditions are suitable for growth. When bulbils start growing but remain attached to the plant, they become a plantlet. A good example of a bulbil can be found on bulbous bluegrass (Poa bulbosa).

Cormlets are comprised of stem tissue and, like plantlets and bulbils, have a single axis of polarity. They have highly reduced scale leaves and are dormant at dispersal. Bulbil bugle lily (Watsonia meriana), despite its misleading common name, is a good example of a plant that produces cormlets.

Tubercles are made up of swollen stem tissue and, like tubers (their underground counterparts), have multiple shoot buds and multiple axes of polarity (meaning there is no right side up like there is in plantlets, bulbils, and cormlets). They lack scale leaves and are dormant at dispersal. Air potato (Dioscorea bulbifera) is an example of a tubercle-producing plant. As you might guess from the common name, potato-like structures are produced aerially on this vining plant that was introduced to North America from Africa and is now invasive in Florida.

A gemma is a tiny cluster of undifferentiated cells. Gemmae are non-dormant and lack polarity. They are the smallest and least common form of aerial vegetative diaspore and can be found on Drosera pygmaea, a species of sundew native to parts of Australia and New Zealand.

Drosera pygmaea (wikimedia commons; Björn S…)

Zona and Howard’s list of plants with aerial vegetative diaspores is the most comprehensive list to date – although it is undoubtedly and understandably missing some – and includes representatives from 42 plant families and 21 plant orders. Plantlets are the most common form of aerial vegetative diaspore at 116 taxa, with bulbils coming in second at 72. Cormlets and tubercles are less common, with 25 and 16 taxa respectively. Their paper includes the full list and offers further information about many of the species listed. It’s worth taking time to explore and is a valuable resource for anyone interested in the topic. In addition, their discussion section highlights a number of questions that warrant further investigation.

Questions surrounding reproductive strategies and the dispersal of aerial vegetative diaspores are particularly interesting. Because these structures are vegetative, they are essentially clones of the parent plant, meaning there is no genetic mixing as occurs when seeds are produced. This can be an advantage when sexual reproduction isn’t possible due to lack of pollinators, environmental restrictions, or chromosomal/polyploidy anomalies. It also assures that new individuals are pre-adapted to the site, and it can help a species colonize an area quickly. This ability to rapidly colonize explains why several of the species on Kona and Howard’s list are known to be invasive in parts of the world outside of their native range.

A species that produces both seeds and aerial vegetative diaspores may have an advantage when it comes to dispersal since both types of diaspores have their strengths. Seeds can remain dormant in the soil and are likely to persist in the environment longer than vegetative diaspores, but vegetative diaspores can be produced without relying on pollinators and can establish new individuals quickly. The modes of dispersal between the two can also vary. Seeds can be dispersed by wind or carried away by animals, while vegetative diaspores often rely solely on gravity to get around. One exception is hitchhiker elephant ear (Remusatia vivipara), whose bulbils are equipped with tiny hooks that cling to animal fur and are transported in a similar manner to burs.

hooked bulbils of hitchhiker elephant ear (Remusatia vivipara) (wikimedia commons; Dinesh Valke)

When the advantages of aerial vegetative diaspores are considered, it is a wonder that we don’t see them more often. Many plants can be easily propagated by taking stem, leaf, and/or root cuttings and placing them in conditions that favor adventitious root and shoot growth. This may suggest that dormant genetic pathways for producing vegetative diaspores exist in most plants. Or maybe not. Genetic studies of species that feature these structures are needed in order to understand why they are found in some species and not others. Kona and Howard leave us with a slew of research questions like this, and it’s a topic I’ll continue to check in on.


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Winter Trees and Shrubs: Tulip Tree

At first glance, a tulip and a tulip tree couldn’t be more different. One is a bulb that puts out fleshy, green leaves in the spring, topped with colorful, cup-shaped flowers, barely reaching a foot or so tall. The other is a massive, deciduous tree with a broad, straight trunk that can grow to nearly 200 feet tall. But if you can get a look at the flowers, seed heads, and even the leaves of this enormous tree, you might see a resemblance – at least in the shape of these features – to one of our most popular spring flowering geophytes.

Tulip tree (Liriodendron tulipifera) is distributed across the eastern United States and has been planted widely outside of its native range. Also commonly known as tulip poplar, yellow poplar, and whitewood, it is a member of the magnolia family and is one of two species in its genus (the other being Liriodendron chinense – a tree found mainly in China). Many (if not most) deciduous trees of North America have small, inconspicuous flowers, but tulip trees – like its close relatives, the magnolias – have relatively large, showy flowers. The trouble is actually getting to see them since, at least on mature trees, they are borne in a canopy that is considerably taller than the average human.

Tulip tree flowers are cup-shaped, yellow-green and orange, with a series of prominent stamens surrounding the carpels which are attached to a long, slender receptacle giving it a cone-shaped appearance. As the flower matures into fruits, the tulip shape of the inflorescence is maintained as the seeds with their wing-like appendages form a tight, cone-like cluster that opens as the seeds reach maturity. The wings aid in dispersal as the seeds fall from the “cone” throughout the winter.

seed head of tulip tree (Liriodendron tulipifera)

The four-lobed leaves of tulip trees also form a vague tulip shape. They are alternately arranged, bright green, and up to five or six inches long and wide, turning yellow in the fall. Two prominent, oval-shaped stipules surround the stem at the base of the petiole of each leaf. These stipules come into play when identifying the leafless twigs of tulip trees during the winter months.

leaf of tulip tree (Liriodendron tulipifera) in late summer

The winter twigs of tulip trees are easily recognizable thanks to their duck bill shaped buds which are made up of two wine-red, violet, or greenish bud scales. The terminal buds are considerably larger and longer than the lateral buds, some of which are on little stalks. The twigs are smooth, olive-brown or red-brown, with just a few, scattered, white lenticels. Leaf scars are rounded with a dozen or so bundle scars that are either scattered or form an irregular ellipse. Pronounced stipule scars encircle the twig at the location of each leaf scar. Twigs can be cut lengthwise to reveal pale white pith that is separated by a series of diaphragms.

winter twig of tulip tree (Liriodendron tulipifera)
top right: the chambered pith of black walnut (Juglans nigra); bottom left: diaphragmed pith of tulip tree (Liriodendron tulipifera)

The bark of tulip trees can be easily confused with that of ash trees. Young bark is smooth and ash-gray to grayish green with pale, vertical cracks. As the tree matures, the cracks develop into furrows with flat-topped ridges. The ridges grow taller and more peaked, and the furrows grow deeper as the tree reaches maturity. In the book Winter Botany, William Trelease compares the mature bark of tulip trees to a series of parallel mountain ranges with deep gullies on either side.

maturing bark of tulip tree (Liriodendron tulipifera)

Perhaps even as tulips are blooming, the buds of tulip trees break to reveal their tulip-shaped, stipule bearing leaves. This makes for an interesting show. In The Book of Forest and Thicket, John Eastman describes it this way: “from terminal buds shaped like duck bills, successions of bills within bills uncurl and unfold, revealing a marvel of leaf packaging.”

More Winter Trees and Shrubs:


The photos of tulip tree were taken at Idaho Botanical Garden in Boise, Idaho.

Burr Tongue, or The Weed That Choked the Dog

It is said that the inspiration for Velcro came when Swiss inventor, George de Mestral, was removing the burrs of burdock from his dog’s coat, an experience we had with Kōura just days after adopting her. I knew that common burdock was found on our property, and I had made a point to remove all the plants that I could easily get to. However, during Kōura’s thorough exploration of our yard, she managed to find the one plant I had yet to pull due to its awkward location behind the chicken coop.

I knew when I saw the clump of burrs attached to her hind end that we were going to spend the evening combing them out of her fur. However, not long after that we discovered that Kōura had already started the process and in doing so had either swallowed or inhaled some. What tipped us off was her violent hacking and gagging as she moved frantically around the living room. She was clearly distraught, and so were we. Recognizing that she had probably swallowed a burr, we made a quick decision to take her to an emergency vet. This was our unfortunately timed (this happened on Christmas Eve) introduction to burr tongue and all the frightening things that can happen when a dog swallows burdock burrs.

The roots, shoots, and leaves of both greater burdock (Arctium lappa) and common burdock (Arctium minus) are edible, which I have already discussed in an Eating Weeds post. The burrs, on the other hand, are clearly not. While sticking to the fur of animals and the clothing of people is an excellent way for a plant to get their seeds dispersed, the sharp, hooked barbs that facilitate this are not something you want down your throat. When this occurs, the natural response is to try to hack them up, which Kōura was doing. Salivating heavily and vomiting can also help. In many cases, this will be enough to eliminate the barbs. However, if they manage to work their way into the soft tissues of the mouth, tongue, tonsils, or throat and remain there, serious infection can occur.

burr of common burdock (Arctium minus)

A paper published in The Canadian Veterinary Journal in 1973 describes the treatment for what is commonly known as burr tongue and technically referred to as granular stomatitis. The paper gives an account of what can happen when “long-haired breeds of dogs … run free in areas where [burdock] grows” and the hooked scales of the burrs consequently “penetrate the mucous membrane of the mouth and tongue.” Dogs with burrs imbedded in their mouths may start eating less or more slowly, drinking more water, and drooling excessively. As infection progresses, their breath can start to stink. A look inside the mouth and at the tongue will reveal lesions where the burrs have embedded themselves. Treatment involves putting the dog under anesthesia, scraping away the infected tissue, and administering antibiotics. Depending on the severity of the lesions, scar tissue can form where the barbs were attached.

To prevent infection from happening in the first place, a veterinarian can put the dog under anesthesia and use a camera inside the dog’s mouth and throat to search for pieces of the burr that may have gotten lodged. There is no guarantee that they will find them all or be able to remove them, and so the dog should be monitored over the next several days for signs and symptoms. At our veterinary visit, the vet also warned us that if any burrs were inhaled into the lungs, they could cause a lung infection, which is another thing to monitor for since it would be practically impossible for an x-ray or a camera to initially find them.

Luckily, now more than three weeks later, Kōura appears to be doing fine, and the offending burdock has been taken care of. One thing is for sure, as someone who is generally forgiving of weeds, burdock is one weed that will not be permitted to grow at Awkward Botany Headquarters.


For more adventures involving Kōura, be sure to follow her on Instagram @plantdoctordog.

2021: Year in Review

Last year at this time I was newly married in a new home that Sierra and I had just bought together. The year flew by, as they often do, and we’re back around to another Year in Review. Home ownership (among other things) has kept us busy. If you follow this blog, you may have noticed that posts were a bit more sparse than usual. That probably won’t change much going forward, but even if takes me some time to get around to posting, I plan to keep this blog going for the foreseeable future. There are still so many plants to investigate and botanical topics to explore. I hope you will follow along, even when posts are few and far between.

The big news of the day is that Sierra and I recently added a new member to our family. Not a human, but a dog. Her name is Kōura, and I would expect her to make an appearance from time to time both here on the blog as well as on our various social media accounts. We are excited for the many adventures we’ll be having with her in the months and years to come, and can’t wait to introduce her to the world.

Kōura in the snow on Christmas Day 2021

As Awkward Botany enters its tenth year, I feel incredibly grateful for everyone who has supported it along the way. To everyone who has bothered to read a post, leave a comment, share the blog with a friend, and reach out to me by various means, I appreciate you all for participating in my silly, little, plant project. Plant people are the best. Luckily, supporting Awkward Botany is easy. Apart from reading and commenting on the blog, there are social media accounts to follow, monetary donations to make (no pressure), and books to buy from our Bookshop. All relevant links can be found on Awkward Botany’s linktree (link below). Let’s stay phytocurious in 2022!

Awkward Botany Linktree

And now…

A Selection of Posts from 2021

Winter Trees and Shrubs

Book Reviews

Weeds of Boise

Eating Weeds

Drought Tolerant Plants

Tea Time

Awkward Botanical Sketches

Podcast Reviews

All the Plant Shows, part three

In part one and part two of this series, I introduced you to at least 23 plant-themed and plant-related podcasts. But wait, there’s more. As podcasts continue to be such a popular medium for entertainment and education, plant podcasts proliferate. You won’t see me complaining. I’m always happy to check out more botanical content. What follows are mini-reviews of a few more of the plant shows I’ve been listening to lately.

Plants Grow Here – Based in Australia, this is a horticulture and gardening podcast hosted by Daniel Fuller (and the occasional guest host). What separates it from other horticulture-related podcasts is the heavy focus on ecology and conservation. As Daniel says in the introductory episode, “there’s no point in talking about plants at any length without acknowledging that they exist within a wider web.” Daniel interviews plant experts, professionals, and enthusiasts from various parts of the globe, and while much of the focus is on horticulture topics, specifically related to gardening in Australia, there are several episodes that focus solely on the plants themselves and their place in the natural world.

Completely Arbortrary – Relatively new to the scene but an instant classic. Completely Arbortrary is hosted by Casey Clapp, a tree expert, and Alex Crowson, a tree agnostic. In each episode, Casey introduces Alex to a new tree species. After learning all about the tree, they each give it a rating (from zero to ten Golden Cones of Honor!). Sometimes the ratings will surprise you (Alex gave Bradford pear 9.1 Golden Cones of Honor). As the show has gone on, additional segments have been introduced, like Trick or Tree and listener questions. This is easily one of the best plant podcasts around, not just because you’ll learn something about trees (and who doesn’t love trees?), but because you will have a delightful time doing so with a couple of the friendliest and goofiest podcast hosts around.

Naturistic – In the same vein as Completely Arbortrary, Naturistic features host, Nash Turley, telling his co-host friend, Hamilton Boyce, about a natural history topic. At the time of this posting, there are only a handful of episodes available, and not all are plant-focused (most are about animals), but I assume more plant ones are in the works. Either way, each episode is well worth a listen. The topics are well-researched and presented in an amiable and approachable manner. There are also some nicely done videos that accompany some of the episodes.

Flora and Friends – A plant podcast based in Sweden and hosted by Judith, who is also a member of The Plant Book Club. Generally, Judith spends a few episodes with several guests diving deep into a single plant, group of plants, or plant-related topic. So far, there are series of episodes about nasturtiums, Pelargonium, Fritillaria, and forests. Sometimes the episodes are in Swedish, and when that’s the case, Judith refers listeners to a summary in English on the podcast’s website. Each episode is a casual and pleasant chat – or in other words a “botanical tea break” – about the topic at hand, which explains why Judith refers to the podcast as “your botanical cup of tea.”

Field, Lab, Earth – “A podcast all about past and present advances in the fields of agronomy, crop, soil, and environmental sciences.” Produced by a group of three professional societies – American Society of Agronomy, Crop Science Society of America, and Soil Science Society of America – and hosted by Abby Morrison. In each episode, Abby talks with a guest or guests about a research topic, often having to do with agriculture, but sometimes having to do with other aspects of plant and soil science. Listeners get behind the scenes information about how the research was conducted, as well as in depth discussions on the findings. You don’t necessarily need a background in plant and soil science to listen, as many of the basic concepts are well-explained along the way. Also, if you’re a Certified Crop Adviser or Certified Professional Soil Scientist, you can earn Continuing Education Credits by listening to each episode and taking a quiz. Major Bonus!

Backyard Ecology – An urban ecology podcast hosted by Shannon Trimboli. Nature isn’t just some far off place, it’s right outside our doors as well. With a little effort, we can make our yards and other urban spaces more biodiverse and create quality habitat for all sorts of wildlife. Plants are the foundation of our urban habitats, as is the case practically anywhere else, so even when episodes of this podcast are focused on animals, you can be sure that plants are at the heart of the conversation. Join Shannon as she, through conversations with other experts and nature enthusiasts, “ignites our curiosity and natural wonder, explores our yards and communities, and improves our local pollinator and wildlife habitat”

Talking Biotech – This is a long-running podcast hosted by Dr. Kevin Folta that aims to help people better understand the science behind genetic engineering. Folta’s university research supports plant breeding efforts, and many of the episodes of his podcast focus on plant breeding using both traditional methods and genetic engineering. A variety of other aspects and uses of biotechnology are also explored on the podcast. Folta has a passion for science communication and is adamant about debunking misinformation and sharing with the world the promise that new technologies offer us in our efforts to feed the world, improve human health, and address environmental threats. Even if you’re not generally interested in plant breeding, the discussions about the plants and the research is always very interesting and thought-provoking.

War Against Weeds – There is so much more to plants than meets the eye, and what group of plants demonstrates this better than weeds? They are our constant companions, and they are continually outwitting us. Their “craftiness” is one of the reasons I find them so intriguing. Controlling weeds is a constant battle, and few know that battle better than those who work in agriculture. After all, their livelihoods depend on it. War Against Weeds is hosted by three weed scientists whose job it is to help farmers successfully manage weeds. Each episode is a peek into what it takes to do the job. The war may never be won, and the strategies must be diverse – hence the podcast’s tagline, “silver bullets are for werewolves” – and so the conversation will continue. Luckily, we get to listen in.

Arthro-Pod – Just as the name implies, this is an entomology podcast. Insects and plants share an intimate relationship, so I consider this enough of a plant-related podcast to be included here. Plus I really like it. It came to me highly recommended by Idaho Plant Doctor, who is also really into plants and bugs. Hosted by three professional entomologists that all work in extension, Arthro-Pod is a bit like War Against Weeds, but is geared more towards the layperson than the professional. The hosts are humorous and clearly love what they do, which is why, apart from the fascinating discussions about insects, this is such a delight to listen to.


Chances are there will be a part four to this series. If you’re aware of a plant podcast that I haven’t covered yet, please let me know in the comment section below or by sending me a message via the Contact page.

The Serotinous Cones of Lodgepole Pine

Behind the scales of a pine cone lie the seeds that promise future generations of pine trees. Even though the seeds are not housed within fruits as they are in angiosperms (i.e. flowering plants), the tough scales of pine cones help protect the developing seeds and keep them secure until the time comes for dispersal. In some species, scales open on their own as the cone matures, at which point winged seeds fall from the tree, taking flight towards their new homes. In other species, the scales must be pried open by an animal in order to free the seed. A third group of species have what are called serotinous cones, the scales of which are sealed shut with resin. High temperatures are required to soften the resin and expose the seeds.

Serotinous cones are a common trait of pine species located in regions where wildfire naturally and regularly occurs. One such species is lodgepole pine (Pinus contorta), which is found in abundance in forests across much of western North America. Lodgepole pine is a thin-barked tree species that burns easily and is often one of the first plants to recolonize after a stand-replacing wildfire. There are 3 or 4 subspecies of lodgepole pine. The one with the largest distribution and the one that most commonly exhibits serotinous cones is P. contorta subsp. latifolia, which occurs throughout the Rocky Mountains, north into the Yukon, and just west of the Cascade Range.

needles of lodgpole pine (Pinus contorta)

Lodgepole pine grows tall and straight, generally maxing out at around 80 feet tall. Its needles are about two and a half inches long, are borne in bundles of two, and tend to twist away from each other, which is one explanation for the specific epithet, contorta. Its cones are egg-shaped with asymmetrical bases, measuring less than two inches long with prickly tips at the ends of each scale. The seeds of lodgepole pine are tiny with little, papery wings that aid in dispersal. The cones can remain attached to the tree for 15-20 years (sometimes much longer), and the seeds remain viable for decades. In non-serotinous cones, the scales start opening on their own in early autumn. Serotinous cones require temperatures of 45-50°C (113-122°F), to release the resin bond between the scales. Some cones that happen to fall from the tree can open when exposed to particularly warm temperatures on the ground. Otherwise, it takes fire to free the seeds.

Serotinous cones aren’t a guarantee, and the percentage of trees with serotinous cones compared to those with non-serotinous cones varies widely across the range of lodgepole pine, both in space and in time. One reason for this is that trees with serotinous cones don’t develop them until they reach a certain age, generally around 20-30 years old, or perhaps as old as 50 or 60. The cones of young trees are all non-serotinous. But some trees never develop serotinous cones at all. Serotiny is a genetic trait, and there are various factors that either select for or against it. A number of factors are at play simultaneously over the life of a tree and across a population of trees, so it is difficult to determine exactly why the percentage of serotinous cones is so variable across the range of the species. What follows are a few potential explanations for this phenomenon.

closed cone of lodgepole pine (Pinus contorta)

As a fire-adapted, pioneer species, lodgepole pine has evolved to live in environments where fire is predictably common. Serotinous cones help ensure that a population won’t be wiped out when a massive wildfire comes through. After the fire has passed and the seeds are released, lodgepole pine can quickly repopulate the barren ground. As long as fire occurs within the lifespan of a population of similarly aged trees, it is advantageous for the majority of individuals to maintain their serotinous trait. If the population is located in an area that historically does not see much fire, serotinous cones may be a disadvantage and can have adverse effects on the longevity of that population.

A study published in Ecology in 2003 looked at the influence that the frequency of fire has on lodgepole pine stands found at low and high elevations in Yellowstone National Park. At lower elevations, where summer temperatures are warmer and precipitation is relatively minimal, fires occur more frequently compared to higher elevations, which tend to be cooler and wetter. The researchers found that at lower elevations when fires occurred at short intervals (less than 100 years between each fire), lodgepole pine was slower to repopulate compared to longer intervals. This suggests that the percentage of serotiny found in stands that experienced short fire intervals was low, and that stands with long fire intervals exhibit a higher percentage of serotiny. After all, as mentioned above, lodgepole pines don’t start developing serotinous cones until later in life.

At higher elevations, where fire occurs less frequently, lodgepole pines were found to have a low percentage of serotinous cones regardless of the age of the stand. Because the trees at high elevations are more likely to die of old age rather than fire, maintaining serotinous cones would be a disadvantage. Open cones are preferred. Thus, at least in this study, a greater percentage of serotinous cones was found in lodgepole pines at lower elevations compared to those at higher elevations. Latitude, elevation, mountain pine beetle attacks, and other environmental factors have all been used to explain differences in serotiny. However, the factor that seems to have the greatest influence is the frequency of fire. As James Lotan writes in a 1976 report: “A high degree of cone serotiny would be expected where repeated, high-intensity fires occur. Where forest canopies are disrupted by factors other than fire, open cones annually supply [seed] for restocking disturbances such as windfalls.”

That being said, one other factor does appear to play a critical role in whether or not lodgepole pines produce serotinous cones, and that is seed predation by squirrels. In a paper published in Ecology in 2004, researchers wondered why the percentage of serotinous cones wasn’t even higher in populations where fire reliably occurred during the lifetime of the stand. To help answer this question they looked at the activities of pine squirrels, which are the main seed predator of lodgepole pine seeds. Pine squirrels visit the canopy of lodgepole pines and consume the seeds found in serotinous cones. Because non-serotinous cones quickly shed their seeds, serotinous cones are a more reliable and accessible food source, and because pine squirrels are so effective at harvesting the seeds of serotinous cones, the researchers concluded that, “in the presence of pine squirrels, the frequency of serotiny is lower and more variable, presumably reflecting,” among a variety of other factors, “the strength of selection exerted by pine squirrels.”

A study published in PNAS in 2014 added evidence to this conclusion. While acknowledging that fire plays a major role in the frequency of serotinous cones, the researchers asserted that “squirrels select against serotiny and that the strength of selection increases with increasing squirrel density.” However, despite making it easier for squirrels to access their seeds, lodgepole pines maintain a degree of serotinous cones, since clearly their main advantage is retaining a canopy-level seed bank from which seeds are released after a fire and by which a new generation of lodgepole pines is born.

open cones of lodgepole pine (Pinus contorta)

Further Reading and Viewing:

Meet Erigeron linearis

Erigeron is a genus of herbaceous, flowering plants consisting of between 390 and 460 species and is a member of the aster/sunflower family (Asteraceae). Plants in this genus are annuals, biennials, or perennials and are mainly found in temperate regions around the world. At least 163 species occur in the contiguous United States. Erigeron diversity is particularly high in western states; however, each state is home to at least one Erigeron species.

A common name for plants in this genus is fleabane. This name comes from an outdated belief that the plants can be used to repel or poison fleas, flies, gnats, and other tiny insects, a belief for which there is no evidence. In Ancient Greek, the name Erigeron is said to mean something akin to “old man in the early morning,” likely referring to the appearance of the seed heads which look like little tufts of white hair. Some Erigeron species are also commonly referred to as daisies.

desert yellow fleabane (Erigeron linearis)

One species of Erigeron that I would like you to meet is Erigeron linearis. While most of the plants in this genus have flowers that are white, pink, or various shades of purple, E. linearis is a yellow-flowered species, hence the common name, desert yellow fleabane. Another common name for this plant is narrow leaved fleabane, a reference to its linear leaves. E. linearis is a small plant with a prominent taproot that reaches up to 20 centimeters tall and forms a leafy, rounded mat or cushion of whitish or gray-green, alternately arranged leaves. The white appearance is due to numerous, fine, appressed hairs on the leaves and stems. Flower stalks are produced in abundance in late spring through early summer and are mostly leafless. They reach above the mound of leaves and are each topped with at least one flower head, which nods at first, but then straightens out as the flowers open. Each flower head is about 2 centimeters wide and is typical of plants in the sunflower family, with a cluster of deep yellow disc florets in the center, surrounded by ray florets that are lighter in color. Both disc and ray florets are fertile; however, the disc florets have both “male” (stamens) and “female” (pistils) flower parts, while the ray florets have only “female” parts. The involucre, which sits at the base of the flowers, is egg-shaped or hemispheric and made up of a series of tiny, fuzzy bracts called phyllaries.

the flower head of desert yellow fleabane (Erigeron linearis)

The fruit of Erigeron linearis is called a cypsela, an achene-like fruit that is characteristic of plants in the sunflower family. The fruits are miniscule and topped with a pappus composed of short outer bristles and longer, pale, inner bristles. The two types of pappus bristles (or double pappus) must be the reason for the scientific name this species was originally given in 1834, Diplopappus linearis. While the seeds of more than 80% of flowering plant species found in dryland regions exhibit some form of dormancy, a study published in Plant Biology (2019), found that E. linearis is one of the few species with non-dormant seeds. This means that for those of us interested in growing plants native to the Intermountain West, E. linearis is a pretty easy one to grow and is a great addition to water-wise gardens, pollinator gardens, and rock gardens.

Erigeron linearis seedling

Erigeron linearis is distributed across several western states and into Canada. It is found in northern California, eastern Oregon and Washington, southern British Columbia, across Idaho and east into southern Montana, western Wyoming and northwestern Utah. It is found at low to moderate elevations in open, rocky foothills, grasslands, sagebrush steppe, and juniper woodlands. It prefers well-drained soils and full sun. It is one of many interesting plants found on lithosols (also known as orthents), which are shallow, poorly develop soils consisting of partially weathered rock fragments. In the book Sagebrush Country, Ronald Taylor calls lithosols “the rock gardens of the sagebrush steppe,” and refers to E. linearis and other members of its genus as “some of the more colorful components of the lithosol gardens.” E. linearis is a food source for pronghorn, mule deer, and greater sage-grouse, and the flowers are visited by several species of bees and butterflies. The plant is also a larval host for sagebrush checkerspots.

desert yellow fleabane (Erigeron linearis)

Additional Resources: