S.Q. Mehdi posted today's Botany Photos of the Day in our Flickr Pool. Thanks once again to S.Q. for a set of wonderful images. (Original Images)

Crassulaceae is the fourth largest family of succulent (water-retaining) plants. Structurally, the family is the simplest among succulents, consisting of plants that, in general, vary quite little in quantity of sepals, petals, stamens, and carpels. Interestingly, Crassulaceae is, in spite of this structural simplicity, the most diverse succulent family in terms of habitat and climate tolerance, with the native conditions of different genera and species varying from arid deserts to moist marshes, and endurable climates ranging from searing heat to gelid sub-zero cold.

Kalanchoe, a genus of about 130 species, consists mainly of flowering shrubs and herbaceous perennials, though it boasts some annual and biennial species as well. The genus is native to Madagascar and to tropical regions of Africa and Asia.

Kalanchoe delagoensis is commonly known as 'mothers of thousands' and 'chandelier plant'. The species is native to Madagascar, though it is now naturalized in many tropical countries, where it is cultivated as an ornamental. Historically, K. delagoensis has also fulfilled the more practical role of a versatile medical treatment for infections, rheumatism, inflammation, and hypertension. That said, gardeners should note that this power to heal is matched by a power to harm: as many unfortunate grazing animals have experienced, the plant contains poisons (bufadienolide cardiac glycosides) that, if ingested without treatment, induce cardiac arrest.

The plant—which in today's photo seems either painted in pastel or molded from dusty terracotta—generally grows to a height and spread of 1 metre. It thrives in sandy soil with abundant water, adorning itself in waxy green leaves and dangling cylindrical flowers of pinkish-brown. The plants are viviparous, meaning that small plantlets are produced on the vegetative tissues (in this case, on the margins of the leaves). These plantlets drop to the ground, spawning the prodigious amount of offspring that accounts for the first common name mentioned above.

Primary Source:

Rowley, Gordon. The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Succulents. New York: Crown Publishers, 1978.

Just under three years ago, on 3 July 2006, Daniel featured the recently-bloomed giant Himalayan lily, Cardiocrinum giganteum, on Botany Photo of the Day, and aptly referred to the plant as a "hallmark" of the Garden's collection. In the cool, breezy air of last Friday morning, after passing the towering giganteum stem that still stands in the stairway of our administration building, Tom Wheeler welcomed the plant's fragrant flowers back into the garden, and recorded the encounter on the film of his camera. Thank you to Tom for sharing today's lovely photo. Steve Coughlin wrote the entry.

Cardiocrinum—another herbaceous, bulbiferous member of Liliaceae—is a small genus conventionally split into three species: Cardiocrinum cathayanum, Cardiocrinum cordatum , and Cardiocrinum giganteum. The genus is distributed broadly throughout the sub-alpine regions of northeastern India and Nepal, through several parts of China and northwestern Myanmar (Burma), and into Bhutan as well. Cardiocrinum species generally grow in forests or on hillside slopes, where they excel in a combination of shade, humid air, and moist soil.

Cardiocrinum giganteum, first collected in the second decade of the 20th century, is native to elevated forests at 1200-3600 metres. The plant's hollow green stem reaches its apex at a height of 3-5 metres and spreads its large, leathery, and heart-shaped leaves out to a diameter of around 100 centimetres. In mid-summer, an ensemble of large trumpets, creamy-white or green and internally streaked with red or purple-red, unfold from the lengthening raceme. The plants die after flowering, leaving behind small offsets that will flower some 3 or 4 years later.

Today, the flowers hang quite close together, like members of a swaying choir pushed shoulder-to-shoulder. The fact that they have just arrived combines with our knowledge of their transience to make us ever more attentive to the sweet subtleties of their aromatic melody.

Today's Botany Photo of the Day was taken by Friend of the Garden Ian Gillam. He grows the flowers under cover at his Vancouver home. Steve Coughlin wrote the entry.

Calochortus, a genus of over 70 herbaceous species, derives its name from the Greek for "beautiful grass". The genus is a member of the lily family, and is renowned for its showy flowers, which rest elegantly atop single stems that rise from perennial bulbs. Calochortus species all have a single basal leaf, inflorescence-supporting bracts, and a perianth composed of three sepals and three petals. These petals and sepals vary from each other in terms of size and colour, and, in this, Calochortus is unique among members of Liliaceae. Though its occurrence seems to be centered in California, where 40 species grow in the wild, Calochortus is in fact quite widely distributed along the western coast of North America, extending from the southern parts of British Columbia through to the northern tip of Guatemala and as far east as the Dakotas. One species, Calochortus nuttallii, is the state flower of Utah.

Calochortus superbus —the species featured in the striking chiaroscuro of today's photo—was first collected in California's Yosemite Valley in the early years of the 20th century. This non-invasive species—commonly called the superb mariposa lily—is endemic to California, where it grows in open meadows, valley grasslands, and foothill woodlands. Generally reaching a height of 40-60 centimetres, C. superbus flowers in late spring and early summer, and enjoys full sun and well-drained soil. Though the plant goes dormant in the summer, it is hardy to zones 7 through 11 and can survive at fairly high altitudes as well (up to 2400 metres). The stems generally bear 1 to 3 upright flowers that take the shape of a small cup; each of the overlapping petals is blotched at the base with a chevron of deep purple or brown surrounded by vivid yellow, though the species exhibits a broad diversity of colour. The exterior of the petals is generally the same colour as the interior, and, as if to pique the curiosity of passersby, it displays a faint, alluring shadow of the intricate internal design.

Source:

Gerriten, Mary and Ron Parsons. Calochortus: Mariposa Lilies and their Relatives. Portland: Timber Press, 2007.

Eric La Fountaine took today's Botany Photo of the Day in our food garden. Douglas Justice and Steve Coughlin co-wrote the entry.

Ribes is a genus of about 150 deciduous flowering shrubby species—the currants and gooseberries—which are primarily native to temperate areas in the Northern Hemisphere, with a few species occurring in South America. Gooseberries are differentiated from currants on account of their spiny stems and often larger fruit. Though they have acquired a measure of notoriety as hosts for the dreaded white pine blister rust (their cultivation actually remains prohibited in some U.S. states), Ribes species—red and black currants in particular—nevertheless have a rich and diverse history as raw materials for human pleasure and practice: the plants have been grown as ornamentals, and they have been used as astringents, as treatments for rheumatism and fever, and as antidotes for digestive, kidney, and hormonal problems as well. Interestingly, the common designator, "currant," is actually a misnomer, and is thought to have derived from a historical mutation of the Anglo-Norman French "raisins de Corauntz" (grapes of Corinth): the dried fruits of Ribes are easily mistaken for the tiny raisins that were famously exported throughout Europe from the Greek city of that name.

Ribes rubrum (red currant) cultivars, which can grow to a height of nearly 2 metres with a spread of almost 3 metres, were first produced in large quantities in France and Belgium in the 17^th century. This rugged species is hardy to zone 6 and enjoys loamy soil combined with either full sun or partial shade. The plants need good air circulation in order to overcome their susceptibility to mildew. The small, pendulous flowers of 'Red Lake', which bloom in late July, are a somewhat unimpressive green-yellow, but they soon enough develop into the sour, fibrous, and vitamin C-rich red berries that are used in preserves, puddings, and pies. Of course, humans are not alone in their appreciation of this sapid little fruit. Birds of all kinds love the berries, and they therefore lay vigorous siege to the plants in order to reap this tart reward. Depending on where Ribes is sited and for what purpose it is grown, this siege can be either to the gardener's delight or to her despair.

Colocasia esculenta is widely cultivated in the tropics and subtropics for its starchy edible corms and nutritious leaves. It is believed to be one of the earliest crops cultivated by humans. The origin of the species is uncertain, but it is presumed to be southeast Asia, the home of all other species in the genus. Evidence indicates cultivation in tropical India as early as 5000 BCE. From there its use spread westward to Egypt and the Mediterranean.

The comestible crop was also very important to Pacific Islanders. Cultivation in Hawaii led to the selection of over 150 varieties, including several used for the production of poi—a fermented paste of the cooked corms. Colocasia species contain toxic calcium oxalate crystals, which must be removed by soaking or cooking.

The large, peltate, heart-shaped leaves glow in the setting sun in today's image. Leaves of C. esculenta can grow to 60 cm on plants that reach 1 to 2 m tall. Many variations of colour and form have been developed by a long history of cultivation, lending to the plants frequent ornamental use in modern day gardens. It is a returning perennial in zones 8b and 9, an evergreen perennial in its native tropical climate, and enjoys full sun or partial shade along with copious amounts of water. Here in Vancouver, the plant would not survive the cool winter, but each year it grows from its corms, which are lifted and stored in the fall.

Today's Botany Photo of the Day was taken by Eric La Fountaine, and Stephen Coughlin wrote the accompanying entry.

Each day, this showy specimen of over 6 metres presses its flowers back and forth against the glass of my office's window. The tree, one of 130 species subsumed by the Styrax genus, rises high above a small, shallow lagoon, and heaves its thin woody branches over the railing of the wooden walkway that gives entrance to the garden. Looking up from my desk, I see several visitors observing the mass of bees that hovers hungrily in and out of the tree's pendulous white flowers, which hang like small cathedral bells from a scaffold of oblong, leathery green leaves. Nearly twenty years ago, when the seed of this Chinese native (collected at Huangshan, Anhui province) arrived at the garden, it was identified as Styrax dasyanthus, and we affixed a small rectangular plate bearing that name to the same walkway over which, now, with the advantage of two decades, the tree hoists its healthy upper half.

Last month, a re-examination of the tree's inflorescences—undertaken by botanist Beryl Zhuang as part of a garden-wide identification verification project—revealed that this original identification was in fact inaccurate, and that the species was rather—and rather appropriately in this case—Styrax confusus. The re-identification was supported by two distinct findings: firstly, close observation found the structure of the inflorescences to be racemose rather than paniculate (the latter of which is characteristic of dasyanthus); secondly, examination showed the plant's fruit to be considerably larger than that of dasyanthus and less pointed at its apex (more obovoid). Though historically other species of Styrax (S. benzoin, for instance) have offered more raw materials to the sensuous curiosities of man (resins used in perfumes, incense, and medicines), confusus remains a lovely specimen, a fine addition to any garden, and, in this case, a subtle reminder of how the minute mysteries of plants can sometimes mislead even the trained eye of the scientist.

S.Q. Mehdi posted today's Botany Photos of the Day on the UBC Botanical Garden Flickr pool earlier this month, and Stephen Coughlin composed the write-up. Thank you to S.Q. for a fine set of images. (Original photos: Full Tree; Flower)

Delonex regia, commonly known as royal poinciana or flamboyant tree, is a fast-growing (up to 1.5 metres per year), threatened native of Madagascar. Its epithets suggest something of the plant's appeal to both the eye and the imagination. In early summer, the tree erupts into a spectacular conflagration of red, and a closer look reveals that each of the tightly clustered flowers has five gently crinkled petals, four of which are nearly uniform in shape, size and rich red hue, while the fifth (the 'standard'), spotted and orange-yellow, rises elegantly to a few centimeters above its peers. Feathery, compound bipinnate leaves underlie the inflorescence. The trunk, which can sometimes reach 50 metres in height, bears smooth, light-brown bark. Due to the strength and complexity of its surface root system, the species is commonly considered invasive, and due to its popularity and abundance in the Caribbean, the tree is often thought to be a native of the region.

Though vulnerable in the wild, flamboyant tree is today naturalized in many tropical areas. It is hardy in zones 9 through 11 and cultivated in several different types of soil. Delonex regia is generally grown as an ornamental, though its seeds are sometimes used practically in percussive instruments like the maraca.

Along with today's Botany Photo of the Day, Douglas Justice, Curator of Collections here at the UBC Botanical Garden, provides a helpfully informative entry.

Pictured are two Eremurus × isabellinus hybrids: first, dressed in peach-coloured flowers, 'Cleopatra'; second, an unknown yellow-flowered cultivar, probably 'Image', which only arose this year (in the second year) from amongst the stems of 'Cleopatra'. There are several group names for hybrid foxtail lilies, each referring to a particular place or breeder. For example, the best-known is the Shelford hybrid strain of foxtail lilies, developed by Sir Michael Foster (1836-1907) of Great Shelford, Cambridge, England. Foster was an eminent professor of physiology at Cambridge University, and he served as Secretary of the Royal Society as well. He was perhaps best known as an iris collector, and is remembered for his suggestion that, "horticulture is a pious occupation," substantiating his claim with the assertion that, "the gods rejoice when they see a good man struggling with adversity". Foster was among the first to receive the Victoria Medal of Honour from the RHS. In the popular literature, Eremurus × isabellinus hybrids are known as Shelford Hybrids—often even listed as E. × shelfordii—but 'Cleopatra' is actually a Highdown Hybrid, and 'Image' belongs to an increasingly popular group called the Ruiter Hybrids. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any substantial historical information on either of these two hybrid groups.

Foxtail lilies are challenging subjects, especially in Vancouver's wet winter climate. Their octopus-like, sprawling, fleshy rhizomes require perfect drainage, and the plants need maximum sun exposure to flower well; nevertheless, the hybrids are somewhat easier both to establish and to maintain than the wild species. I once heard the renowned gardener (and garden writer) Christopher Lloyd describe his method for cultivating foxtail lilies. He would dig a large hole in a well-drained, sunny spot, and pour builder's sand into the hole so that it would form a cone (the top of which was approximately 10 to 15 cm below the ground level); he would then lay the rhizome over the cone and backfill with the native garden soil. This would position the crown and arms of the rhizome appropriately and ensure that the rot-vulnerable underside of the rhizome would stay dry. Today's photograph was taken in the plaza at the entrance to the Botanical Garden. The soil here is relatively sandy, infertile and well-drained. The summer-flowering Koelreuteria paniculata (golden rain tree)—which prefers similar dry, sunny conditions—provides the background.

Today's photo and entry once again come from the camera and pen of Douglas Justice.

As a person fascinated with plants of all kinds—though admittedly, I'm more familiar with temperate plants—I couldn't help but be impressed with the range of tropical and subtropical plants at the South China Botanical Garden, where I attended the Second International Magnolia Symposium this past May. I should confess, too, that woody plants, especially trees, are my great passion. Leaving magnolias aside, one of the most beautiful groups I saw in the garden was the Elaeocarpus collection. The tree pictured is about 5 m tall and about as wide. Each and every branch was festooned with sweetly scented cream and white flowers. The overall effect of the fringed blooms against the glossy, deep green leaves was exceptionally beautiful. In all, I saw some five distinct species, though there were probably many more in the collection.

The name hainanensis indicates that this species is found on Hainan Island, off the south coast of China (it also occurs on the adjacent mainland and in Indochina). Although unlabeled, the species resembled other trees of E. hainanensis, so this is the name I've provisionally given to it; as there are about 350 species in the genus, however, I'm just as likely to be wrong about the identification. I strongly suspect that many species are grown as ornamentals because of their clean, evergreen foliage and their great beauty when in flower.

Today's Botany Photo of the Day once again comes from the pages of the album that Douglas Justice collected on his recent trip through China. Stephen Coughlin provides his third entry.

In its native tropical, sub-tropical, and warm temperate habitats of coastal Asia (China, Taiwan, and southern Japan), Livistona chinensis—the Chinese fan palm—often reaches upwards of 15 metres (45 feet). At the trunk's apex, the characteristically costapalmate (and scroll down here ) green leaves (which can grow to a diameter of 5 metres) collapse back toward the earth like layers of fountain water cascading softly downward from the peak of their trajectory. For this reason, many happily refer to the species as the fountain palm, and just as the figure of its namesake evokes a sense of sweet respite and replenishment, the species itself produces raw materials for human nourishment and raiment, and it forms a cool canopy through which only cracks of sunlight can penetrate. While it does indeed provide humans and animals with a measure of protection from the heat of the tropical sun, L. chinensis guards itself against the baleful consequences of drought by way of a long tap root that generally extends to the cool, moist depths of 2 metres. Of course, today the palm is a popular domestic and commercial plant that rarely confronts the adverse soil and climate conditions against which it is so hardy: in the warmer parts of North America, it is generally sited in shopping mall pots and alongside manicured highways or caring homes.

Botanical gardens contain multitudes in several senses: beyond the heterogeneity of visible and invisible life forms that inhabit or make use of this land, that is, the garden is by nature home to a broad spectrum of mood and ambience. Odd moments find one immersed in a tour group or a research party, while others are steeped in the tranquility and solitude of an isolated corner or an often overlooked path. Though it was taken in the South China Botanical Garden, which, as a rule, hums with the frantic energy of practical human endeavor and association, this photo seems to suggest the latter form of experience—of leaving the heat, light, and din of the highway and the beaten path behind for the serene terrain of whispers, shadows, and the unexpected.

Douglas Justice, the Curator of Collections here at the UBC Botanical Garden, took today's Photo of the Day in the David C. Lam Asian Garden. Stephen Coughlin contributes his second entry.

Rodgersia, a genus of five herbaceous perennial species from the moist valleys and forests of East Asia (Himalayas, China, Korea, and Japan), is known for its large, pinnately or palmately compound leaves, its spreading underground stems, and its sizable paniculate inflorescences (up to 2 m long), which are studded with numerous white or pink star-shaped flowers. The genus is named for the distinguished mid-19th Century United States Admiral John Rodgers, whose exploring and surveying expedition contributed significantly to early American knowledge of the eastern and northern waters of the Pacific Ocean and included the first scientific collection of a Rodgersia species.

The smallest and reportedly least hardy of the rodgersias, R. sambucifolia was first collected by British plant hunter Ernest Henry Wilson on his 1904 expedition to China. The species is native to the provinces of Guizhou, Sichuan, and Yunnan, but is not as well known as most other species. The specific epithet recalls Sambucus, the elderberry, which R. sambucifolia's elegant, deep green leaves resemble quite closely. The species, like all rodgersias, thrives in semi-shade and moist soil, looking well when sited near water. In June, R. sambucifolia's creamy blooms glow; do not wait to take in this refulgent drama, however, for the initial whites and pinks of June soon turn to weaker browns and greens. Fortunately, the handsome foliage more than makes up for any late floral indiscretion, and the plants continue to look fine through the summer with shade and moisture. In winter, the plants die back to the ground cleanly and completely. In the Vancouver area, the species is completely hardy (Zone 7), and a skiff of leaf-mould in the fall is all that the gardener needs in order to maintain a colony; the leaves both feed the plants and protect the ground from the pounding of the coming winter rain.

With today's posting, we welcome summer student, Stephen Coughlin, whose duties include Botany Photo of the Day. This entry was written by Stephen and the photo was taken by Eric La Fountaine.

Euphorbiaceae (the spurge family), which consists of around 300 genera and 7500 species, is native to both the temperate and tropical climate zones. Euphorbia griffithii is a metre-high herbaceous perennial that hails from the eastern Himalayas to the mountains of Myanmar (Burma) and western China. It ignites into bloom in early summer. The cultivar 'Fireglow', which is more deeply coloured than the species, welcomes visitors at the entrance to UBC Botanical Garden with a series of chromatic juxtapositions simultaneously subtle and strong: on its floral bracts, rich reds mix with searing yellows and oranges as if on the palette of an Old Master, while the dark burgundy of the stem and the green of the waxy leaves lend further contrast and contribute to the intensity of the blazing blooms above. This intensity culminates in the fall, when the floral apparatus turns brick red.

The vividness of the bloom, which to some suggests a measure of resilience and assertion, is indeed matched by the vigour with which 'Fireglow' confronts its surroundings. The species is robust enough to withstand both hostile pollutants and the vast spectrum of weather conditions associated with Zones 4 through 9; E. griffithii tends toward the invasive, however, at least in garden situations. Paraphrasing renowned gardener and garden writer Christopher Lloyd, the species is aggressive, and its sustained struggles when matched with a similarly dominant species leave the gardener only to referee. In addition to these somewhat bellicose tendencies, 'Fireglow' has another menacing trick up its sleeve. While the plant's capacity to repel the onslaughts of deer and other animals is undoubtedly a benefit in the garden, gardeners beware, for the milky sap that fills the stems of this beautiful spurge is toxic.

For those wishing to explore the plants of the Himalayas, Laboritoire d'Ecologie Alpine has a searchable database, Flora Himalayan Database, which provides links to other Himalayan flora resources (Original French).

Today's Botany Photo of the Day comes from the UBC BPotD Flickr pool. J.G. in San Francisco contributes the photo and the included write-up. Thank you, J.G. Original photo here. J.G. writes:

"Calliandra eriophylla, commonly known as fairy duster, is a low spreading shrub which is native to deserts and arid grasslands in California, Arizona, New Mexico and Texas and Mexico.

"The flowers, which appear between late winter and late spring, have dense clusters of pale to deep pink stamens and are about 5 cm wide. The shrub is usually between 20 and 50 cm high and has bipinnate leaves.

"Alternative common names for this species include Mock Mesquite and Mesquitella."

This photograph was taken at the offices of the Chagual Botanic Garden (English translation) in Santiago, Chile, last October. The garden is in development and is not yet open to the public, but I had the good fortune to tour the garden site with the director, Antonia Echenique. The design for the new garden, which will feature native plants and those from other Mediterranean climate zones, has been carefully planned and the garden will be one of the best places to see Chilean plants.

This entry was co-written by Douglas Justice, Randal Mindell and myself.

Drimys winteri is an evergreen tree or shrub native to temperate rainforests of Argentina and Chile. According to Plants for a Future, The aromatic pungent bark is powdered and used as a pepper substitute in Brazil, Chile and Argentina, and is rich in vitamin C. According to Clements Robert Markham in his book The Sea Fathers (Cassell & co., 1884), Winter, who was captain of the Elizabeth (one of five ships in Francis Drake's fleet) saved his crew from the ravages of scurvy (vitamin C deficiency) on the voyage home by means of a decoction of the bark.

The genus name is from the Greek: drimys = acrid, pungent (from the taste of the bark). Captain Winter evidently steeped the bark in honey to remove some of its acridity. Drimys winteri was named by Johann Reinhold Forster and his son Johann Georg Forster. Johann the elder was the naturalist in Cook's second voyage in 1773.

Drimys is of considerable interest to botanists due to the lack of vessels in their water-conducting tissues. Members of Winteraceae have long been thought to be an early-diverging branch of the angiosperm tree of life. Fossil evidence for the antiquity of the family comes in the form of Lower Cretaceous (~125 million years ago) pollen tetrads. By the Late Cretaceous, there is abundant evidence for the family in the form of vesselless wood, leaves and pollen in places as far flung as California and James Ross Island (off the Antarctic Peninsula).

Heading out of the garden after an afternoon of taking photos, I was drawn to the intoxicating fragrance of Philadelphus delavayi, which was in full bloom. As I neared the shrub to drink in the aroma, I noticed this lovely butterfly busily feeding on the nectar from the flowers.

Ingrid Hoff, Horticulture Manager at UBC Botanical Garden and our resident insect specialist, identified it as Papilio rutulus, the western tiger swallowtail. She writes about the visitor, "This is one of the most common butterflies along the west coast, often found anywhere there is moisture. Large numbers of males can often be found "puddling" together in muddy areas or near streams. The species is found from British Columbia to Baja California east through the Rocky Mountains, but rarely beyond them. The western tiger swallowtail can have up to three broods per season.

Philadelphus delavayi has been feature on BPotD previously. Daniel Mosquin wrote this entry, which is still very much worth reading and the text accompanies a beautiful close up view of the buds and flowers.

The interpretive sign for this plant describes it very well:

"Named for the French missionary Père Jean Marie Delavay (1838-1895), who characterized much of the flora of Yunnan, Philadelphus delavayi is a variable species that is considered one of the most beautiful of all mock oranges.

Like other Philadelphus species, Delavay mock orange is an arching shrub that displays its pure white, saucer-shaped, fragrant flowers on short, lax racemes. The appeal of Philadelphus delavayi does not lie so much in its open flowers—which are admittedly large and beautiful—but in the sumptuous plum-purple calyces that back the flowers. The startling contrast of the purple calyx and white corolla is best seen before the flowers are completely open."

Curator of Collections, Douglas Justice contributes today's photos and write-up.

UBC Botanical Garden is renowned for its collection of woody climbers (lianas) primarily because we encourage many of them to climb into the mature conifers in the David C. Lam Asian Garden. The genus Clematis is well represented in all parts of the garden, with wild Asian species representing approximately half of the collection. See this link for a list of clematis accessions in the garden.

Clematis montana var. wilsonii commemorates E.H. (Chinese) Wilson (1876-1930), who introduced vast numbers of plants to cultivation, primarily from China and Japan. This variety from southwestern China is less well known than the more commonly cultivated selections of Clematis montana var. rubens (which are generally larger and pink). Most references describe var. wilsonii as late-flowering (mid to late June) and strongly fragrant, smelling of hot chocolate. The aroma to me is considerably more complex, especially when smelled at close range. A number of my colleagues have been debating the particular components of the aroma—what else do staff at a botanical garden do at lunch?—and we've come up with quite a list, including chocolate (of course), but also peppermint, cinnamon, cardamom, carob bean, narcissus (the large trumpet types), oaked Chardonnay, and Advocaat liqueur—the more elusive and volatile components being expressed more strongly with older flowers. Our plants came to us from Guernsey Clematis, the famous nursery founded by plantsman Raymond Evison.

There is considerable disagreement amongst experts regarding the legitimacy and characteristics of the various C. montana varieties; however there is no disagreement on the value of these beautiful climbers to horticulture. The species is generally hardy to Zone 6 or colder, floriferous, and needs no pruning or special treatment. Our plants have taken about 15 years to reach within a few metres of the tops of 25 m tall Thuja plicata (western red cedar). The clematis mode of climbing is well suited to thujas, whose branchlets are the optimal diameter for the twining petioles (and petiolules). Because the leaves and branches of thujas are long-lived, they're commonly retained near the ground for many years, and this makes starting a clematis up the tree relatively easy. It is important, however, to site the clematis (or any other climber) outside of the drip-line of a western red cedar, as thujas produce very heavy shade and are notoriously greedy when it comes to available water.

I find that grasses can be very difficult to photograph. The breeze stopped for just a moment allowing me to snap this photo. I took the shot facing the early evening sun that shone through the flower spikes, causing them to glow in the image.

Tom Wheeler provides the description. He writes:

Koeleria macrantha, familiarly called June grass, is named after the German botanist Georg Koeler (1765-1807). About 15 species of plants bear his surname. Macrantha refers to this grass's comparatively large flowers. The species is circumpolar and widely distributed, inhabiting dry rocky or grassy slopes and forest openings in the steppe (prairies) to sub-alpine areas.

We grow this perennial bunch (tufted) grass in our Garry Oak Meadow Garden, first planted in May 2007. June grass grows 60 to 75cm (to the apex of the inflorescence) and does not aggressively self-sow. It is well regarded by our staff and visitors as a tidy grass with cylindrical, whitish green, spike-like panicles that arch when ripe. The seed provenance of our garden plantings is a Garry oak ecosystem on southeastern Vancouver Island. The first sowing in pots at our nursery yielded an emergence rate of 46%—moderately successful for a grass.

Chungii V, a member of the UBC Botanical Garden Forums contributes today's photo and plant write-up. Chungii V writes about one of the beautiful native species of his home country, Australia. Thanks for shariing, Chungii V.

Hey All, See how this one goes and over the coming months I thought I might throw a few of our Natives from "Downunder" at you.

I decided to start with the Callistemon sp. because they are a pretty good example of a native flower. The name Callistemon when broken down means 'kallistos' - beautiful, and 'stemon' - stamen. Many of our flowers are very simple in design—a high arrangement of stamens with very insignificant petals. The inflorescence is made up of many small flowers carried closely together. I believe that this ensures continuity as they produce a large amount of seed giving some chance that at least one will germinate.

Callistemon are probably one of the more versatile plants, being able to grow in dry areas as well as they do in wet. They have adapted to different environments and grow to varying heights from dwarf shrubs no more than 1 m (3 ft.) high to small trees around 5 - 7 m in height. There are over 30 species of Callistemon recorded—occurring naturally in shrubby bushlands and also in wetter floodplains and along riverbeds mainly on the east coast of Australia. There are a couple of ‘PBR’ varieties, which means they have been copyrighted by the person who produced them. There is a nice colour range. Though most commonly red, they can also be found in shades of burgundy, white, green and pink. They attract much wildlife and are often used by councils in S.E. Queensland as street trees.

Picture is of Callistemon viminalis ‘Rose Opal’. I like this one as it opens a rosy red and fades to a nice pink. The individual flowers will last a good week or so.

References: Callistemon (Bottlebrushes) and Callistemon viminalis from the Australian National Botanic Gardens website.

Today's photo and article come from Tom Wheeler. Tom is a horticulturist working on the Garry Oak Meadow and Woodland project at UBCBG.

Mentzelia was named by Linnaeus in honour of Christian Mentzel (1622-1701), a German physician, botanist and lexicographer. The epithet laevicaulis (laevi = smooth + caulis = stalk) refers to the comparatively smooth stems of this species in comparison to other Mentzelia species.

To see Mentzelia laevicaulis, or blazing star, on gravelly cuts and slopes in BC's southern dry interior region is to revel an exquisitely different representative of the region's flora. This biennial or short-lived perennial is native to much of western North America from near sea level in the north to 2440 m (8000 ft.) in the southern parts of its range.

The fragrant, lemon yellow flowers can be up to 16 cm across, opening at mid-morning and remaining open past dusk and throughout the night. Carpenter bees and hawk moths are the blazing star's vespertine (evening) and nocturnal pollinators, and daytime opening enables other pollinators, including European honeybees, to visit, as well. When its flowers are open, their presence dominates the plant, but the short, barbed, hairy upper stems and branches give this species its other common name, stick-leaf, for its leaves and stems easily stick to clothing.

Mentzelia includes annuals, perennials, sub-shrubs and shrubs. The centre of diversity is southwestern North America, but the range of the genus extends to Argentina and Chile. California is home to more than half of the 50 species. While the family Loasaceae is well known for nasty plants with stinging hairs (e.g., Cevallia, the stinging serpent and Petalonyx, the sandpaper plant), the blazing stars are generally easily handled.

This entry was schedule to appear yesterday. Unfortunately an unknown problem arose and it did not appear as scheduled. My apologies.

Today's entry was written by Randal Mindell, a botanist working on a special project at UBCBG. Randal took the close-up photo and I took the full view. Randal writes:

Fronds of Osmundastrum cinnamomeum (cinnamon fern) come in two forms: tripinnate vegetative fronds and tripinnate reproductive fronds. This differs from the coupling of reproductive structures on vegetative, photosynthetic leaves common to the vast majority of filicalean ferns. The distinction between the two frond types is easy to see in the picture, with tan fertile material encircled by traditional, verdant foliage. If you feel like you have seen this before, perhaps you are thinking of other erect and iconic ferns such as Blechnum spicant (deer fern), Onoclea sensibilis (sensitive fern) or Matteuccia struthiopteris (ostrich fern).

Among living ferns, the family Osmundaceae has one of the longest fossil records. It traces back to the Paleozoic, and is widely distributed across the northern hemisphere during the Mesozoic. Given the widespread nature of Osmunda cinnamomea in the present (North & South America, Asia), I would like to reflect on the reproductive potential that fuels its dispersal. Plants here at the garden give off anywhere from 5-10 fertile fronds. An informal count revealed that these fronds produce anywhere between 11-19 pairs of primary pinnae (primary divisions of the leaf), which in turn give off anywhere between 13-20 pairs of secondary pinnae. Counting the tertiary pinnae (the sterile tissue on to which the sporangia are borne) is too painful, but a count of sporangia on a few secondary pinnae averaged 45 per pinna. Putting these loose numbers together (fertile fronds × primary pinnae × secondary pinnae × sporangia per secondary pinna) and multiplying them by the 64 spores per sporangium that is standard for the Dryopteridaceae, we see that one individual has the potential to produce anywhere from 8-43 million photosynthetic spores.

Douglas Justice brings us another photo and write-up from his recent trip to China. He writes:

I have a habit of photographing plants in flower in Botanical Gardens and promising myself that I'll look for the label the next time I go by the plant. Well, I walked by this plant at the South China Botanical Garden in Guangzhou, at least five times. I did do a very quick, cursory look for a label, which I couldn't locate, but I was in a hurry each time I passed it. I suppose I could have asked one of the staff or botanists (the place is rife with scientists), but I didn't. The plant might be Senna bicapsularis (L.) Roxb. (winter senna), but this identification is tentative. The shrub in the photograph is about 2 m tall and wide, the individual flowers some 3 or 4 cm across. I did not see any legumes (fruit).

Senna is a genus of about 250 subtropical and tropical shrubs, sub-shrubs, lianas and herbs. Few are cold hardy enough to cultivate in temperate conditions, but Michael Dirr mentions in his Trees and Shrubs for Warm Climates (Timber Press) that S. bicapsularis overwinters (but dies to the ground in the cold) in his Georgia garden. Locally, Senna didymobotrya (popcorn plant) was a popular summer container plant for a few years. It is an attractive African species that requires frost-free conditions. It smells of buttered popcorn (really).

Douglas Justice writes today's entry.

The December 10, 2005 Botany Photo of the Day entry shows a bleached fruit of the rare Rehderodendron macrocarpum. The same tree is pictured in today's entry, this time as it's beginning to open its flowers. Eric's photograph was taken just after a rain shower, which explains the iridescent quality of the blooms. When fully open, the petals splay out to expose prominent anthers (these can be seen poking out of the rounded, barely open buds—more photos). The individual flowers are a huskier version of those of Styrax japonicus (Japanese snowbell), and like the snowbell, borne in ample clusters all along the undersides of the spreading branches. A tree in full flower is a wonderful sight and not soon forgotten. The Garden now has at least one other species in the collection, tentatively identified as Rehderodendron indochinense H. L. Li, and both species fill the air with their rich, lemony aroma when flowering.

Other than the lack of available seed, there seems little reason for the virtual exclusion of Rehderodendron from commercial horticulture. Unfortunately we have only the one tree of this species, and without cross pollination (i.e., a source of different pollen), viable seed is seldom produced. Like other plants in Styracaceae, siting in humus-rich, well-drained soil is essential for good growth and longevity. We know this species to be hardy to Zone 8.

Today's images come to us from Suzan D. Suzan posted the photos for identification on the UBC Botanical Garden forums in 2004. She cleverly called these "woses." Original post.

Although the structure in the photo looks very much like a green rose, roses do not grow on willows. And while Suzan never found the insect, we believe this to be a gall caused by Rhabdophaga rosaria, the European rosette willow gall midge. Galls are abnormal growths found on plants that can be caused by parasites such as insects, mites, fungi or bacteria. Insects, particularly wasps and midges, are the most common cause of galls on plants. Plants form the galls in response to ovipositing or feeding by the insect, or from infection by another agent. The gall is an attempt to surround and isolate the invader. In the case of insects, the gall actually forms a protective chamber, where the larvae can develop safely away from predators.

Many types of galls exist. Many are shaped like balls or blisters. They are still unusual things to find in the garden, like this one from the UBCBG forums. In North America they are most commonly found on Fagaceae (oaks), but are also often found on Salicaceae (willows), Rosaceae (roses) and Asteraceae (asters). In general, they cause little damage to the plants and most are not considered to be significant pests.

Further reading on plant galls:

• Insect Galls, University of Florida Extension
• Gall-Making Insects - John A. Byers
• To Be Or Not To Be A Gall, Wayne's Word http://waynesword.palomar.edu/pljuly99.htm

I photographed this lovely specimen at the font entrance here at UBC Botanical Garden in early May. This is one of my favourite plants in the garden. I have always been fond of fragrant plants, so daphnes are high on my list. ‘Cheriton’ is a proven performer. The evergreen shrub is reported to grow 30-45 cm tall and 60-90 cm wide. Our plant has spread to at least that size if not larger. The fragrance is strong and sweet.

Daphne is a genus of around 70 species, found primarily in Asia and Europe with a few species native to northern Africa. Daphnes are shrubs (or rarely small trees). They can be evergreen or deciduous. The berries are often very toxic and caution is advised when placing in the landscape, although the bitter taste should help keep the unwary from consuming the fruit.

Daphnes are often considered difficult to grow, but many, like the cultivar in this article are actually fairly trouble free. In fact, in the lower mainland of British Columbia and parts of northwestern USA, the European Daphne laureola has proven to be an invasive species. For further reading on the threat check out the fact sheets from the Garry Oak Ecosystems Recovery Team and Evergreen. (Note links are to PDF files, might open slowly.)

Douglas Justice writes today's article.

Thanks to Marcela2 for today's image via the BPotD Flickr Group Pool (original image). Marcela2 writes (translated from the original Dutch ):

"The plant is frost resistant and as a result, in early spring an important source of vitamin C and minerals such as calcium, magnesium, and iron. In North America the plant was appreciated by both native Indians and the gold miners in California. For these people it was an important scurvy preventative in early spring, when they otherwise lacked a good source of vitamin C."

The genus is named in honour of John Clayton (1686-1773), who, according to William T. Stearn (Stearn's Dictionary of Plant Names for Gardeners, 1972 ) "came to Virginia from England in 1705. He corresponded with the botanical great of the day—Linnaeus, Gronovius, Kalm, and John Bartram —as well as with Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson. Collinson, the English Quaker botanist, described him as the greatest botanist in America."

The epithet, perfoliata, undoubtedly refers to the leaves that subtend the inflorescences of this species. The base of a perfoliate leaf completely encircles the stem, as can be seen in the drawing here. However, keen observers will notice that the encircling leaves of miner's lettuce as pictured above do not resemble those in the drawing. Indeed, the inflorescence leaves of this species are not perfoliate at all, but actually paired leaves that encircle the stem because they are fused at their bases. Such leaves are termed connate.