clear: calm: 38ºF


Most of the big, bright, full Camellia japonica shrubs are still in bud. The dozens of varieties planted in the Linnean glasshouse usually bloom in early February. But every now and then a few begin to flower in December. This is a japonica called ‘Claudia Lee’ offering a teaser of coming attractions.

My first garden catalog arrived just before Christmas. Jung Seeds and Plants in Wisconsin sent it. It’s a 112-page picture book of perfect veggies and flowers that catapulted me into summer. Similarly, a garden wall in the Ottoman Garden is covered with murals of bulbs and flowers that will bloom here when winter ends. This tulip with slender, long petals ending in a point was painted from an illustration in old Ottoman manuscript.


A magnificent tree in winter and when it’s leafed out too – the Zelkova. This huge Zelkova serrata is growing in a lightly visited part of the botanical garden north of the Director’s house. I looked at the tree again this morning because I’ve been reading about it in a Botanic Gardens Conservation International (BGCI) report. The report calls the Zelkova a “relic tree.” Fossils records show the tree dates back 55 million years. That means that the tree somehow managed to adapt and endure though dramatic climate changes from tropical through ice ages. Zelkovas are survivors. The BGCI report points out that during the current period of climate change, relic trees like the Zelkova are storehouses of information on how living things can survive even as dramatic climate occur. Destroy the trees: we lose any chance we might have had to learn from them, they conclude.

There are six known species of Zelkova – some of which are close to extinction. This botanical garden has several specimens of one of them --the most common one: the Zelkova serrata. It’s native to east China, Japan, and Korea, and is not considered endangered. It’s a useful landscape tree because it’s tough – rot resistant and great for growing in places where high winds are a problem because it has deep roots that spread out all directions. The BCGI report says that “The recent discovery of compounds in twig extracts relevant to cancer treatment may offer new opportunities for Z. serrata to become a major medicinal plant in the future.”


I took a picture of this Jade plant (Crassula ovata) in the Temperate glasshouse just because it was blooming. Everyone’s mother or aunt had a Jade plant before it died of overwatering or neglect, but who knew they bloomed? A blog I read outlined six steps on how to get a Jade to flower: 1) It needs to be exactly 35 years old; 2) It seems to work best if it starts out as a 6-inch housewarming gift; 3) It needs to be starved, dried out and knocked over too many times to count; 4) It needs to have a occasional Cheetos chip fall into its pot; 5) It needs to be abandoned in a sunny corner and forgotten for seven years; 6) then finally three weeks before Christmas, give it a good watering. She adds, “If you start now, your Jade will bloom in 2048.”





cloud cover: calm: 34ºF

A rare morning at the botanical garden. There’s usually just one like it per winter. A wet snow fell last night with no wind to scatter it. The bare branches of the trees caught the snowfall and held on to it for early visitors to see.

Uncommon views of three common sights: The domed Climatron, the rose garden, and the Chinese Garden.







A snow-covered bud of a witch hazel (‘Arnold’s Promise’) showing color.



Arching stems of Toad Lilies (Tricyrtis hirta).


What’s a botanical garden without poinsettias for the holidays? This Garden usually features some of the newest, hottest varieties developed by the big growers. This year is different. While there is plenty of color, it all comes from about a half-dozen varieties -- all of which have been around for a few years. The colors and the bracts are traditional -- pinks, reds, white, and orange; none are speckled. Absent too are the Winter Rose varieties and poinsettias with variegated foliage. Without the exhibitionists, the abundant displays this year have a formal, classical look that’s quite attractive.


This poinsettia is ‘Classic White.’ It’s a toned-down peachy-white that looks even whiter when its grouped with reds or pinks and creamier than when it stands alone.

The theme of the indoor holiday show is “Edibles.” Near the entrance to the display hall is a thriving vanilla orchid vine (Vanilla planifolia).

I just finished reading a book by Elizabeth Gilbert called The Signature of All Things. In it, the vanilla orchid has a starring role. At a dinner party, 19th botanical entrepreneur Henry Whittaker complains that despite making a huge investment in setting up and running an vanilla plantation in Tahiti, the orchid vines hadn’ t produced a single vanilla pod. “The climate is perfect for it,” he said. “The vines grew to sixty-five feet tall. . . . The vines produced flowers as big as your fist.” Henry then challenged his dinner guest, an botanical artist who drew and made lithographs of orchids, to tell him what went wrong. At a time when little was know about orchid pollination, the artist guessed correctly that there were no vanilla beans because the flowers weren't being pollinated. Tahiti had no natural insect pollinators so the artist reasoned that unless the flowers were hand pollinated, there would never be any vanilla beans. Turns out he was right. There’s only one natural pollinator of the vanilla orchid – the melipona bee – and it’s not native to the South Seas. Exploration Films did a fascinating video about the relationship between the melipona bee and the vanilla orchid.





clear: windy now and then: 14ºF


“The wonder of silk” a friend said to me this morning. Today for the first time this season I too was wearing silk under my jeans. My fleece stocking cap and quilted coat were equally wonderful as buffers between me and the cold.

Few people were walking in the botanical garden this morning. Many were inside though. Santa and his lap were here for the youngsters and for their parents who were taking pictures.

In the botanical garden I mark the start of winter by two things. First, it has be cold enough for frost feathers to form on the south windows of the Linnean greenhouse, the old brick glasshouse that houses the camellia collection and serves as an orangery for an assortment of citrus trees. Second, the Milles fountain sculpture of the sea nymph riding a dolphin into the North wind has to grow icicles that go from the dolphin’s beak all the way down to the water. The feather tracings on the windows had formed, but were already melting in sun. The dolphin though had a fine pair of fangs coming from its beak. Winter is here.

Dozens of Tower of Jewels plants (Echium wildpretii) line the edge of the large pond in the botanical garden’s central axis. They didn’t bloom this year. If they had flowered, they would have produced a stunning display. Each of the rosettes of scraggly leaves would have produced a five-foot tall tapering column lined with hundreds of pink-purple flowers. Not to be, I’m afraid for a couple of reasons. Tower of Jewels is a biennial and judging from their size and prominent placement, I think this was supposed to be their year to flower. Then there’s the weather. They’re native to the resort-like Canary Islands, so it will be interesting to see how they like spending the winter in the Midwest.


Despite the cold, a few camellias are still in bloom. This one, a Camellia japonica along the walkway near the English Garden is named ‘Spring’s Promise.’ It still has a few vibrant blooms on its lower branches. Spring’s Promise has been bred to withstand temperatures below zero so it should survive the cold nicely. These blooming flowers likely won’t though. I’m hoping the buds do.

Certain shrubs are standouts on sunny mornings when the ground has a snow cover. This is a stand of Japanese barberry (Berberis thunbergii) named 'Golden Ring.' It’s been planted near the wall in the Boxwood Garden and it hasn’t yet lost its fall foliage of tiny orangey-red leaves.

We stopped at the Home Gardening building to look at the holiday tree. It’s a not-to-be-missed because traditionally it’s decorated with gourds grown at the botanical garden and then made into whimsical ornaments by volunteers. Here’s an ornament I especially liked – a gourd coated with feathers made to look like an owl. In its beak is a small gourd painted to look like a field mouse.

Find scented geraniums in two places: During the growing season there’s a nice collection of them in the herb garden. In the winter, go to the temperate glass house. I’ve read that scented geraniums are natives of South Africa and were brought to Europe and American three or four hundred years ago. They reached their heyday in the mid-1800’s before the days of chemical air fresheners and were used to add fragrance to Victorian home. Back then the leaves of scented geraniums were also floated in table-side finger bowls so that hands would always smell pleasant at meal times In cooking they were used to flavor jams, jellies, cakes, and sugars.


There are hundreds of varieties that have scents that noses detect as citrus, nutty, fruity, spicy, or pungent. While most of the varieties I’ve sniffed have a strong aroma, I’m always hard-pressed to put name to the scent until I’ve read the label. Then I take another whiff and think, “Yep, it smells just like xxx.” (whatever the label says). In the Temperate House there’s this skeleton-leafed variety named ‘Dr. Livingston.’ (Pelargonium radens). A pure lemon scent I’d say. Internet sources agree, but add that it has hints of rose too. Now that you mention it, I think I did detect a bit of rose.