BOTANICAL
OUTLAWS
Text and Photos by Jac Kyles Baker
Loved then Unloved
What if you dared to appreciate the mocked and maligned plants? Or at least have sympathy for plants making the best of circumstances that weren't of their making? You know. The plants humans once adored but now despise.
And I confess love for many of the despised. I call these plants botanical outlaws: an affectionate nickname for unloved plants. Also known as weeds and thugs. Weeds and Thugs, is it a title for a 1930s B movie?
So, what are the laws plants must follow to remain in our good graces? A plant should know its place. Ambitiously seeking new frontiers is forbidden. Chastity is ideal. Suppressing urges to self seed is a must. Only those plants the gardener put in place are permitted. Exceptions are made for the beautiful and charming, sometimes.
Unruly plants seek to conquer bare soil and rob wood mulch of its rightful place. And we need to protect precious native flora and fauna now. Because they weren't so precious compared to past exotic infatuations.
Banner photo: Narrow leaf plantain (Plantago Lanceolata)
Check out crow garlic's (Allium Vineale) wild hairstyle. I don't know if I'd call it beautiful; it's intriguing. And pungent... even for garlic.
Cute silver spot skipper sips cut leaf teasel's (DIpsacus Laciniatus) nectar. Introduced to America in the 1700s for use in textile processing. Hated by 21st century America but loved by pollinating insects.
Crown vetch (Securigera Varia) was used for erosion control; it spread out of contol. The tiny pea flowers growing in a circle remind me of lotus flowers.
Natural Genius
Plants (as well as insects and animals) are simply genius adapters.
Every time I turned my back, milkweed vine seedlings (eastern US native) tightly coiled themselves around virtuous sedum ‘Autumn Joy’ (a Eurasian native).* Sedum Autumn Joy attracts all kinds of native insects: bees, moths and butterflies.
Hostas, revered garden stalwarts from northeast Asia, are remarkably sedentary. They'd rather not expend energy producing and dispersing seeds. Hostas will occasionally set seed. Cardinals always beat me to them. And I guess hosta seeds are no match for a cardinal's gut.
The best and most reliable way to propagate a hosta is to slice the root mass into pieces. Sounds painful. But hostas recover brilliantly from this surgery.
The charming black-eyed susan of the American prairie seeds survive goldfinches' digestion and have no qualms about spreading its bright yellow flowers in a carefully considered tonal pink planting. Defying composting efforts, seedlings appear wherever that compost touches ground.
Nature's imperatives aren’t easily controlled or predictable. Something to keep in mind.
Above: Dandelion, speedwell, henbit, hairy cress and purple dead nettle flowers woven into a spring tapestry of despised weeds. Top left: Black eyed susan (Rudbeckia Hirta) seeds sowed themselves in this narrow bed. Less work for me. Bottom left: A native bee claims its spot on a sedum 'Autumn Joy' flower. Read more about adored sedums.
Often the common green hostas are overlooked for showy cultivars with color variations or textures. Far left: Raindrops add dimension to the deeply grooved leaves. Middle: Look hard; you'll see a tiny water sphere balanced on top of the blooming hosta flower. Kind of mystical. Above: A hosta leaf isn't too shabby in a still life.
On Squirrels & Black Walnut Trees
Squirrels and black walnut trees: a symbiotic dream duo or garden nemesis'? I'll go with garden nemesis'. Black walnut tree (Juglans Nigra) seedlings** will find a home wherever squirrels have destroyed a planting: flower beds, seedpans or any pots without the thickest, woody or entangled roots to deter them.
The squirrels’ haphazard memory result in garden marauding and unwanted seedlings. I've watched squirrels frantically digging deep holes to come up with nothing. It's at once chaotic and predictable. Aren't they supposed to possess a keen sense of smell?
My ardent wish, dear reader, is that you never awaken to discover overturned pots, desiccated roots and ensuing heartbreak or rage. Or both.
You don't want to be underneath black walnuts when they drop like bombs. The effort to get through the leathery husk and the hard nut shell is a reason to leave them to the squirrels.
A Tale of English Ivy and A Busybody
A sturdy but unlovely wooden fence enclosed the backyard. It became a graffiti tagger's canvas. And I don't mean graffiti art. Wouldn’t it be magnificent if I let the errant English ivy (from next door) do its thing? It took some time, but eventually, it formed a green fence. It blurred the back garden's boundary while shielding the fence from vandals. I was pleased.
One day, while doing stuff indoors, I heard the persistent racket of power tools. I ignored it. It's the typical noise of neighborhood yard keeping. Imagine my shock when I took the trash cans into the alley---every leaf and stem of my lush ivy was gone.
What happened!? A busybody happened.
A week or so later, Busybody happily informed me that she was behind the destruction. She'd sent her lawn crew to correct my ignorance. I seriously believe she expected gratitude. What she got was a grown woman doing her best not to forget her upbringing. Had I been raised differently, age wouldn’t save her from my wrath.
How does the disdain for English ivy become more important than respecting a neighbor’s property? She wasn't even a next door neighbor. But lived in the house next to my neighbor's (though of the same ilk as Busybody). So how was the critter supporting English ivy a threat? In comparison, my botanical outlaws aren’t as noxious.
The plant assassin crew's hit wasn't thorough. From an overlooked stem, the rugged English ivy returned to its former glory.
End of story.
English ivy (Hedera Helix) can cover the ground or climb a tree. Once ivy reaches the top of a tree or building and grows in full sun, it flowers in autumn. The honey scented flowers provide late season nectar for many pollinators. Birds eat the berries in spring. Left: Native blue violets (Viola Sororia) and ivy planted themselves as a charming vignette.
The Discreet Charm of Prolific Self-Seeders
The most strong willed botanical outlaws are fertile and deep-rooted. Believing you can hold your own against their arsenal of unyielding roots and masses of seeds is foolish. And backbreaking. As beguiling as they may be, I'll leave the porcelain berry and kudzu to the besieged woods and wastelands.
The blue chicory colony growing at the liquor store parking lot's edge is stunning in its beauty and resilience. It’s chicory’s statement, “Litter and disregard can't stop us!” Recreating the scene in a garden is tempting minus the litter of course. But that flight of fancy comes with a taproot that wants to journey to the center of the earth. Indulging in such untrammeled romanticism is unwise.
Obviously, gardener-botanical outlaw are risky alliances. Proceed with caution. The power dynamics change after a few neglectful weeks , and you'll spend an infinity battling plants on a conquest.
Chicory flowers look like pieces of blue sky falling to earth. The scene isn't behind a liquor store. Nor is it a wildflower meadow. It's neglected land strewn with beer cans, plastic whatever and bike tires. So much beauty in so much filth. Right: An up close glimpse of heart melting chicory flowers.
Above & Top Right: Knotweed (Fallopia Japonica), so fresh and so green. When seen in flower, it's understandable why knotweed was a coveted ornamental in the 1800s. Desire came with a hard lesson; nothing was learned.
Bottom left: A plant which grows jewels. Porcelain berry's ethereal beauty is undeniable. Look; don't grow. Above and right: Everything about wisteria (Wisteria Sinensis) enchants: fragrance, color and dangling flowers of magical forests. Its delicate appearance belies its vigorous growth. That's a vine's nature. Keep that in mind.
Half Joking, Half Serious
I wrote this in the spirit of levity. For those living in communities with codes, homeowners' associations and yard police, ignore me. Especially in regards to knotweed (Fallopia Japonica). Look it up. I did. YIKES!
I'd hate to subject anyone to an unsalable property, fisticuffs or death.
Botanical Outlaws. The photo captions warn of rowdy behavior from legless invaders.
Do we don hazmat suits and wage chemical warfare? Pick some to display in vases to check the invasions? Or do we reflect on our attitudes and behavior ?
So many questions. So few satisfactory answers.
*The Royal Horticulture Society awarded sedum 'Autumn Joy' as The Plant of the Century (in the 20th century). That's... something.
** Black walnut trees produce a toxic substance called juglone. The chemical is found in all parts of black walnut trees but is concentrated in buds, hulls and roots. Toxicity can extend 50 to 80 feet from the tree trunk. Juglone affects the growth and health of some plants. (Source University of Wisconsin- Madison Wisconsin Horticulture Division of Extension)
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My favorite foursome. Want a lush cottage garden in a few seasons? Grow these plants. From left to right: morning glory (Ipomeoa Purpurea 'Grandpa Ott'), double feverfew (Tanacetum Parthenium), foxgloves (Digitalis Purpurea 'Excelsior Mix') and dame's rocket (Hesperis Matronalis). None of them are deep rooted or long lived perennials. All are prolific seeders; prepare yourself.
