The Bulb Maven

Habranthus

Many of my Habranthus are blooming now, so it seems appropriate to post something on this beautiful genus from Central and South America.  There is even one member from the southern United States, H. tubispathus (called H. texensis by some).  The genus is closely related to Hippeasrum, and even closer to Zephyranthes, the main difference with Zephyranthes being the stamens and the angle of the flowers. 

Most Zephyranthes flowers point upwards, while Habranthus are at a slight angle to the stem.  The stamens of Habranthus are unequal in lenght, while Zephyranthes are equal.  Here is H. tubispathus above, with the pink version, H. tubispathus v. roseus to the right.

I have a number in my collection, and I like them all.  The most dramatic must be H. brachyandrus with very large flowers that are pink with a deep purple throat. 

Another favorite, although smaller, is H. martinezii, with pale pink flowers and a purple to burgundy throat.  Here it is to the right.  A pot full of these sweet little bulbs is very charming.

Habranthus coeruleus

, seen here to the left, is from Argentina, and is quite rare.  It isn't really blue, but a lavender blue color.

Probably the most commonly grown Habranthus is H. robustus. 

There are a number of different forms and also some hybrids.  H. Russell Manning is a hybrid, with very large funnel shaped flowers that are slightly ruffled.  It is vigorous and very attractive.  Here it is to the right.  Two different color forms of the species are seen below, one with pale narrow petals, another with deep pink petals.

 

Another charmer is Habranthus magnoi, with lovely white petals tipped with pink.  Here it is to the left. 

These lovely bulbs grow well in the southern United States, but can also be grown elsewhere if winters are not too severe.  They make excellent container plants if they can't be planted in the ground, and the pots can be stored over winter in a frost free place.  They are often called Rain Lilies, since they tend to bloom in flushes after rain.

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The Morning Walkabout

It is a shock to realize that we are almost half way through August, and that summer is edging towards autumn.  In my previous post I commented that there wasn't a lot happening in the greenhouses, but yesterday I noticed buds emerging from the pink Rhodophiala bifida (left), and also Calostemma purpureum (right), Amaryllids that bloom in late summer, heralding the onset of the autumn display of most members of the Family Amaryllidaceae, such as Nerine and many other South African members.  Hymenocallis have been blooming off an on for some time, with the dainty umbels of H. leavenworthii seen here, a very rare member of the genus from Mexico, where it grows at some elevation.  Here it is to the right.

 Summer's progress is also marked by the birds' activities.  Their songs no longer awaken me at dawn, they are probably too busy to spend much time singing, frantically feeding the gaping mouths of their babies.  The swallows have already reared one brood, and are on their second, but the parents are still pestered by their adolescent babies that badger them for food.  They are a constact source of entertainment.

In the pasture next door there is an ever changing population of horses, apparently the owners rotating horses from their other ranch.  About a month ago there was a pure white one and an ebony black one, and watching them race each other around the five acres was delightful.  Now we have a mother and her baby.  She is not at all afraid of the dogs, and seems to want to play with them.

I have been having some work done on the garden.  I had put in a small informal herb garden, and wanted a focal point, so I had the basin of a fountain put in on a stone base.  I will plant a miniature water lily in it, since I would never run a fountain, and don't actually like the movement.  Here is the full work crew, the dogs having played a supervisory role, testing the mortar to make sure it was just right. 

We are having a very wonderful summer here in the Ferndale valley.  Although other parts of the state are parched, with our morning fog, things stay lush and green all year.  The fog clears by about 10:00am, rolling back in at night, keeping the temperatures pleasantly cool.  Last summer it was very cold and foggy, but there are no complaints this year.  The County Fair opens in a couple of days, and I can see the ferris wheel from my window.  My favorite agility trial is this coming weekend, and we have been training every day, hoping to bring back ribbons.  Even if we don't win, we always have a wonderful time, for, after all, the dogs know nothing of winning or ribbons, they do it for the joy of it.  And ... for the treats, of course!!

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The Morning Walkabout

This is the time of year when we are away at dog trials on some weekends, having just returned from Oregon, where we did respectably well.  As soon as we are back, we slip into our routine of an early morning walk around the nursery, usually at sunrise. 

This morning gauzy, low-lying mists enveloped the fields, and as the sun rose they all turned to a brilliant orange hue.  The effect only lasted a few minutes, then the sun rose above the low banks of mist when they changed to opalescent colors before disappearing completely.

Yesterday it was so windy it was hard to work outside, so we all went off to gather seeds about an hour south of here.  There is a steep cliff by the road covered in Calochortus amabilis, and now is the time the seed is ripe.  Here they are to the left, in bloom about six weeks ago. It was a beautiful drive through the redwoods and we found a trail for the dogs to run, chasing each other happily through the poison oak (bath time when we got home).  It takes all my old rock climbing skills to get a few pods of this Calochortus, but I don't have to feel guilty about collecting them, since the seeds would undoubtedly fall on the road below where they would be doomed.

Walking around the nursery a couple of weeks ago, I noticed a little white crowned sparrow dart out from one of my Bomareas.  Usually I trim all the old stems off the Bomareas in about April or May, making room for new growth, but I had left four or five, since seed was still ripening on them.  It happened again the next day, so I investigated, and found the most perfect nest snuggled in the stems.  The eggs soon hatched, but the babies disappeared a couple of days after hatching, probably victims of the raccoons.

In the greenhouse where I grow my tender subtropical bulbs, a few things are blooming.  Bulbs from equatorial regions seem to bloom whenever they feel like it, also going dormant erratically, so my pots of Eucrosias have some dormant bulbs, some with leaves and some in bloom.  Here is Eucrosia aurantiaca, one of the more spectacular bulbs from Ecuador.  Also in bloom is the rather strange Sprekelia formosissima from Mexico, seen here to the right.  There are, I believe, two Sprekelia species, both from Mexico, S. formosissima and S. howardii, a recently described species that I have finally got my hands on, although they haven't bloomed yet.

The powder-puff blossoms of the South African Haemanthus humilis ssp. hirsutus is in bloom, white with pink bracts and very attractive.

I was very thrilled to see emerging buds on my Hymenocallis hawkesii (probably more correctly named as Ismene hawkesii).  I had obtained seedling bulbs some time ago, and now they have matured to bloom size.  This is an extremely rare species from Peru, where it grows at about 6000'. Here it is to the right.  

Work in the nursery continues with seed gathering and unpotting the dormant bulbs.  The native bulbs are the last to go dormant, and can't be harvested until their seed has ripened, so this will continue well into July.  The South African bulbs have mostly been lifted by now, with Oxalis being the first batch to be unpotted, and Oxalis orders already being shipped. 

Summer is upon us, with sunny days preceded by morning fog in our area.  The fields are being mown for hay, the cows all glossy, fat and contented.  The solstice has already passed.  I always feel a touch of sadness at the summer solstice that they days are incrementally shortening, although we will still have daylight beyond 9pm for a while.  I love these long days.  I can work in my garden until dusk or take the dogs to the beach at sunset.  I wish it would last forever. 

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Pamianthe peruviana

Pamianthe is a small genus of two species of the most spectacular bulbs from Peru, but also occurring in Ecuador and Bolivia.  I usually post on species when they are blooming, and my bulbs are not blooming this year, having produced so many flowers last year they are a bit exhausted and needing a year off.  I am repotting mine now, and it prompted me to post on them.

Pamianthe peruviana grows as an epiphyte on tree branches in filtered shade.  I grow mine in my office where they seem to enjoy the indirect light and very even temperatures.  I had tried them in the greenhouses, but they were not happy there, probably because the light is too intense and the temperatures swing drastically.  In my conditions, they bloom in late winter. 

The bulbs grow somewhat horizontally, with the arching leaves cascading downward.  I grow them in a loose mix suitable for orchids, since that is what they think they are.  I haven't found them difficult -- the difficulty is obtaining seed or bulbs then providing the conditions they need. 

"Spectacular" is a rather overworked word, but there isn't any other way to describe the flower.  It is huge, the tube is at least 25cm in length and must need a very specialized pollinator.  The flowers measure about 15cm across and are produced in pairs on very short stems and the scent is heavenly.  They are self-compatible, producing large seed pods that take 15 months to mature.  Yes, they do!!  I can vouch for that.  I suppose near the equator, not bound by seasonal variations, plants can take whatever time they need to grow and mature their seed. 

This is a must have for the serious plant collector. 

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The Morning Walkabout

We (the dogs and I) have been away a great deal for the past three weeks at two dog trials, with more coming up.  Here we are on the beautiful Smith River on our way home from Oregon.

Coming home, my first task is to catch up on e-mail and orders, then take care of the bulbs.  I am having a difficult time tearing myself away from my garden these days, since I am trying to renovate parts of my front yard and it is all starting to look the way I would like it.  I had, mistakenly, planted an escallonia hedge along the front of my yard, wanting privacy from the road and wind protection.  My house faces west, and you can almost see the ocean from the upstairs of my house.  You can actually see it during storms when waves can reach 18ft high, and the surf line is visible across the flat fields.  My property is about a mile and a half from the Pacific Ocean with nothing to break the force of the wind, so the hedge seemed a good idea.  It wasn't.  I bought what was supposed to be a dwarf form of escallonia, but in eighteen months they had grown from six inches to seven feet, with no sign of stopping.  With one very large and very long hedge to trim already, and with the escallonias suckering into my small flower borders, I decided they had to go, so I have been slowly digging them out.  It is no easy task, but I have half of them removed, and I am replacing them with a loose mixture of better behaved shrubs.

With most of the catch up work behind me, I can now take my customary strolls around the nursery.  The beautiful Arum creticum is in full bloom.   It has a faint sweetish scent, unlike most Arums, although I do have a clone that I grew from seed that is most definitely not sweetly scented.  Nearby are pots of the hybrid Erythronium 'Pagoda', seen here to the left, and I am thinking that if I can solve the gopher problem I must definitely plant these two in my garden.  They look beautiful together, need similar conditions, and bloom at the same time.  Arums don't seem bothered by slugs, snails or deer, so possibly they wouldn't taste good to gophers, but I am sure they would love the Erythroniums.  Another lovely little Erythronium in bloom now is E. howellii, seen here below. 

Zephyra elegans, seen here to the right, is from Chile, where it grows in very dry conditions.   The usual color is blue, but I have a white flowered one grown from seed.  It has taken five years or more to bloom, and has been difficult to keep happy, so I doubt I will ever be able to offer it on the web site. 

Also from Chile are the Leucocorynes, all in bloom now.  I have posted previously on this genus, but here is the beautiful L. macropetalum.  

I have a small collection of native Alliums, and I am becoming more fond of them as time goes on.  I only grow a few in sufficient quantities to list on the web site, but I do have others that are just for my own enjoyment.  Here is Allium yosemitense, in bloom for me for the first time.   

Yesterday, in my Mediterranean greenhouse, I was amazed to find a small swarm of butterflies.  I am not sure if they hatched in there or all flew in through the opened door.  When I moved to this property I was rather dismayed to find that bees and butterflies were scarce here, but since I have planted my garden this has changed considerably.  Before, there was little here for shelter or nourishment.  I felt pretty certain that my greenhouse wasn't a good environment for a butterfly to prosper, so I spent a large part of the morning capturing them and releasing them outside.

Spring is well established.  The swallows are back, and are swirling around the barn.  The first ones back were the tree swallows, with small flocks arriving a good month ago.  Soon after the barn swallows followed, and they are already investigating nesting places on the house and barn.  I am astonished when people tell me that I should knock their nests down because the 'make a mess'.  Not as bad a mess as we humans, I say.  The geese have mostly departed, with a few stragglers still here, although as I write this I am conscious that I can't hear them, so maybe they have gone too.

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Tropaeolum

Tropaeolum is a large genus of about 100 species, all South American.  We know the familiar Nasturtium of our gardens, but few people are aware that there are perennial Tropaeolum species that grow from underground tubers.  One such tuberous Tropaeolum is used as food, T. tuberosum, also known as Oca.  It is from the Andes of Peru.

I grow a number of tuberous species, all of which are winter-growers, and many are in bloom now.  Most are vines that grow in arid conditions, scrambling over adjacent vegetation for support.  A few I grow do not climb, but grow as lax spreading plants, such as T. incisum, seen here to the left, which hails from Argentina, where it grows in sandy, dry conditions.

The most popular Tropaeolum I grow is the lovely blue one from arid regions in central and northern Chile.   It is T. azureum, sky blue with a white eye, seen here to the right.

 Tropaeolum tricolor is probaly the best known of the tuberous rooted Tropaeolums, since it is the most common, and is occasionally offered by specialty bulb brokers.  It is also from Chile, and the coloring is quite amazing, bright red on the outside, yellow inside with a navy blue ring around the opening of the flower.  It also seems to be the easiest in cultivation, succeeding outside in the milder regions of California.  Given support, the delicate vines can reach over 6ft in the space of two months.

Another lovely Tropaeolum, and a recently described species, is T. hookerianum ssp. austropurpureum (now there's a mouthful!). This beautiful purple species is also from Chile.   Here it is to the right.  An easier species from Chile is the bright yellow T. brachyceras, seen here to the left.

I grow my climbing Tropaeolums on chicken wire cages dropped over the five gallon pot.  The cages are about six feet tall, and are only just big enough for some of the more vigorous species.  I have to say that these are not the easiest plants in cultivation.  The tubers can just disappear, almost certainly from some kind of fungal disease.  They naturally grow in very dry regions, and therefore, probably have little resistance to fungal diseases that are prevalent in my cool, damp climate.  They grow naturally at considerable depth, and when I sow seed on the surface of a three gallon pot (25cm deep), the tubers will migrate to the absolute bottom of the pot in their first season.  This indicates to me that they are escaping the intense heat that would be found at the surface in their dormant period.  They should be kept completely dry when dormant, and I find a five gallon pot is minimal (that would be a pot about 35cm deep), partly as ballast to counterbalance the five or six feet of growth and prevent the pots from tipping over.  Seeds that have dropped in nearby smaller pots have done well for the first season, but in view of their natural behavior to grow deep, I think it is better to accommodate that tendency.

Equally frustrating than their tendency to disappear is their habit of not sprouting some years.  You can dig down in the pot, and find a perfectly sound tuber, but for reasons of its own it just sits a year out.  This, I believe, is not uncommon in bulbs and tuberous species from extremely arid regions where rainfall is erratic.  It seems to be hard wired into the bulb, which will not break dormancy even in favorable conditions.  If you think about it, it wouldn't be smart for all the individual tubers or bulbs to sprout when rain came, for, often in these regions you can get some initial rain, then absolutely none afterwards, literally leaving the plants high and dry.  The smaller tubers might have used all their stores to sprout, and could then die, while tubers that had taken a vacation that year would have their stores intact for the next season.  I can't actually tell what my tubers are up to, since I grow many in a pot, and there always is some growth each year.

In spite of the difficulties, these are wonderful exotic plants to grow, and are well worth the trouble.  If you get 'hooked' on Tropaeolum, you can even subscribe to the Tropaeolum News, which (of course) comes out of England.  It is packed with information and wonderful photographs.  For details on how to subscribe, please contact me at info@telosrarebulbs.com. 

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Sowing Seeds

The big seed sowing takes place in autumn and early winter here at Telos.  This is due to the fact that the majority of bulbs grown here are from Mediterranean climates, regions that have cool rainy winters and summers that are dry.  The bulbs from such regions come into growth when the rains commence in autumn, and are dormant in the summer.  In their native regions seeds ripen in early summer, some staying attached to the pod until the rains commence, others being scattered on the dry ground where they lie until there is enough moisture for them to germinate.  For gardeners accustomed to sowing annuals, this seems to be a surprise that many seeds need cold temperatures to germinate.  Indeed, heat would either be fatal to the germinating seed, or would completely inhibit germination of the seeds of Mediterranean climate bulbs.  To the left is a germinated seed of Lewisia rediviva.

For most of the bulbs native to the western USA I place the seeds in slightly dampened vermiculite in a ziplock bag, then put the bag in the refrigerator.  In an evening I can bag up dozens of species this way.  The bags are checked regularly, and the seeds are sown as soon as any sign of germination takes place. This saves me a great deal of time, making seed sowing spread out over the winter.  In addition, if I have bad batches of seed, I am not filling up greenhouse space and wondering whether to throw the pots out. I can tell after two or three months that nothing is happening.  Germination of the species native to the western USA takes anywhere from two weeks to four months, the longer period needed for the alpine species.  Here is a bag of germinated Calochortus kennedyi, ready for sowing. 

Seeds of bulbs from the western Cape Province of South Africa can't be handled in this manner, for they need a diurnal swing of at least ten degrees F. to facilitate germination.  If placed in the unvarying conditions of a refrigerator they would not germinate.  They are sown in situ in the greenhouses.  Tiny seeds, such as those of Lachenalia are left uncovered.  Here is a pot of freshly sown Gladiolus carinatus seed.  The gladiolus seeds will be covered with a thin layer of sand or seed starting mix.

Seeds of South American members of the Family Amaryllidaceae are sown when they ripen.  Most amaryllid seed does not keep for long, so it should not be stored for more than about three months before sowing.  These are also sown in ziplock bags, but they are kept at room temperature, since these species are not from Mediterranean climates, and are usually subtropical.  I keep them in my office at room temperature, which will average about 60F.  Here is a bag of germinated Hippeastrum mandoni seed. 

Growing bulbs from seed is an exciting and satisfying experience, but one that most gardeners have not attempted.  Many bulbous species will mature to flowering in three to four years, and you can grow species this way that are difficult to find in commerce.  The seed lists of plant societies offer a tempting array of unusual bulbous species, and there are small specialty seed companies that offer even more.

www.telosrarebulbs.com 

Leucocoryne

South America is home to many wonderful bulbs, few of which have made their way into our gardens.  This is a pity, since there are many wonderful genera that are ideally suited to garden conditions, especially in the western states of America.  Leucocoryne is one such genus, coming from the Mediterranean climate of central Chile, where winters are mild and rainy, and summers dry.  They grow in conditions similar to those of our native Brodiaeas, often occurring in grasslands at relatively low elevations.  They are ideally suited, therefore, to California and the southwestern states of American, but can certainly be grown elsewhere, either as annuals, or by lifting the bulbs after they bloom and storing them, since they need a warm, dry summer rest.  Seen above is Leucocoryne purpurea, probably the best know species, with a sweet almond scent.

Leucocorynes are, indeed, distantly related to the Brodiaea group, and resemble them somewhat.  They have tall wiry stems, topped with an umbel of beautiful flowers.  The range of color, though is much greater than that of the Brodiaea group, and Leucocorynes have the advantage of being strongly scented.  They are grown in the Netherlands for the cut flower industry, since, as well as being beautiful, they last a very long time in water.  Here is L. ixioides to the right, pure white with a scent of freesias.

There are about twelve species all told, and all are beautiful.  Here to the left is one color form of L. coquimbensis, and another color form to the right, below   As you can see from the picture to the right, Leucocorynes have modified stamens called staminodes that can add to the beauty of the flower (Brodiaeas also have staminodes). 

Given the right conditions, these are bulbs that are easy to grow, and, with today's emphasis on xeriscaping, they would make a beautiful addition to any dry garden.  Here is L. vittatum to the left, and L. macropetalum to the right.

I am currently in the middle of repotting this section in the greenhouses, and stocks look good.  It's not too late to order L. purpurea or L. ixioides, and I hope to be able to add more species next year.

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Moonlight, Bats, Bomareas etc.

The moon was full five days ago, and is now on the wane.  The picture above is a little bit of a cheat, since at full moon it was foggy, and I couldn't actually see it, but even so the fog was illuminated by its light, and it was bright enough to clearly see my path from the house to the barn.  The past three days, however, have been beautifully bright and clear, with moonlight bright enough to show faint color and cast shadows.

When I lived in Oroville, in the Sierra foothills, the moon was a constant presence, partly because of the clear skies in summer, and partly because the evenings were so warm you could sit outside at night.  It was our evening ritual to eat dinner outside, then sit and watch as dusk fell and the first stars became visible, watching for the bats to make their appearance.  Then the moon would rise over the mountains, bathing the garden in its silvery light. I always knew what phase the moon was in then, and I miss its nightly presence in my life.

One of my treasured memories is lying in my hammock part way up El Capitan in Yosemite Valley and watching a full moon rise over Sentinel Rock across the valley.  The cracks on El Capitan are full of bats, and at dusk you can actually hear the pinging of their sonar as it bounces off the rock.  It is so intense it is almost like muffled machine gun fire.  And if anyone says that is impossible, that you can't hear it, I challenge them to climb halfway up El Capitan to test it.

Most of my Bomareas are in bloom.  To the left is an unnamed species from Ecuador, and to the right is the beautiful yellow Bomarea that came from the Berkeley Botanical Garden.  It has never set seed, so I mangled it horribly this spring to get some divisions, although I didn't have enough to put them on the web site, but I have been selling them to Bomarea collectors.  It seems to have bounced back, and I will try dividing it again next spring.  When you divide Bomareas, you must get big chunks.  The shoots will not root, and you need a crown for the division to succeed, so you don't get many even from a big plant.  The tubers are only root tubers for food storage, and have no ability to sprout.

Below is another hybrid Nerine, probably the last of the season.  It is called Taffeta. The lovely Crocus goulimyi is seen to the right. 

The repotting is continuing, and will go on for about another month, and the greenhouses are starting to look very clean and organized.  Seed sowing is interspersed with the potting and will continue throughout the winter.

I can't imagine how I would feel with winter approaching if I didn't have my bulbs.  For me, autumn is like a second spring with shoots emerging and buds unfolding, and I feel the same excitement and anticipation that spring brings.

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Autumn

It is officially autumn now, and the trees are starting to show their fall tints, although in this mild coastal region we get very little compared to the splendor of the eastern forests.  I lived in Washington, D.C for four years, while in medical school, and autumn there is a magnificent affair.  At that time my love was rock-climbing, and I would go to West Virginia to climb, or to upstate New York, where the land seemed to radiate color during the autumn season.  Here it is muted, but still, the passing of the seasons has always seemed significant to me, and I welcome the change.  The swallows are still here, but massing in great flocks, swirling around the barn, getting ready for their departure south.  In their place will come the geese from the north, and all during winter the air will be filled with their cries.  This is a very soggy valley in winter, perfect for the hundreds of thousands of geese and swans that visit us.

This morning the dawn was clear, without the fog blanket that often envelopes everything in early morning.  The sky was rosy to the east, and the thin sickle of the waning moon floated above.  In the morning the stars seem to glow, quite unlike the sparkle of the evening stars (I am sure there is a scientific explanation for this), and it was a special treat this morning to see them unclouded by fog.

Although I don't grow the usual autumn blooming bulbs, like Colchicum, I have the Nerines, mentioned before, to look forward to, as well as the occasional Lycoris, some autumn blooming Crocus, Bessera, and many others.  Here is the lovely Crocus kotschyanus. 

The Bomareas are now at their peak, having to make their growth during the summer with the flower buds forming on the end of the shoots.  On the Pacific Bulb Society forum it is very interesting to hear reports from all over the country of fall-blooming bulbs, Lycoris in the midwest and southern states, Colchicum, autumn Crocus, etc.  Above is the orange Bessera elegans that I had not been able to post before, finding I hadn't kept a photograph of it.  This is the color that is most commonly available in commerce.  Below is Bomarea patacoensis (to the right), and to the left is a Bomarea that I have called B. sp. MG0478. 

A few Crinums are blooming, although by now I am starting to dry them off in preparation for winter.  The one pictured at the left of the first paragraph is Crinum moorei.

Bulb shipping is still going on at a brisk pace.  It seems I get a big rush of orders at this time, although I have been shipping since June.  All of a sudden people start to think 'bulbs', since this is when you would normally be thinking of daffodils and tulips, and they come in from the Netherlands, arriving in the fall for planting.  By the end of October it will be too late to order many bulbs from Telos, since they will start sprouting in storage in response to the cool nights.  I have tried storing them with a little heat to delay them sprouting, but felt it dried them out too much, and decided to just let nature dictate when it is too late to ship.  When shipping is almost over, then the big seed sowing takes place, all the native bulbs and South African bulbs needing to be sown around the time it starts raining here -- October.  The change of pace and change of focus is welcome, giving my work life a rhythm that is synchronous with Nature's cycles.  It is a good feeling.

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