Often sports critics and detractors of general pop culture trace the gladiator-like quality of professional sports back to decadent Roman times. But this is only partly true. Let us consider American football, which has sickened me deeply for the past 48 hours, and I do not even watch TV.

The American circus played the greatest role as the root of professional sports, if not of all today’s popular culture. Its seasonality, vulgarity, scandals, gypsy-like society and freak-show popularity are played every hour on perpetual nationwide media.

But the story of football is special. It was played seriously first by colleges. Everyone admired colleges in the 19th century. Most were established by churches, so this respect was justified. It persists in the expression “the first in the family to go to college”. Colleges served as models for local communities, later rivaling local churches and eventually overtaking them in social importance in post Civil War society. One aspired to become a “college man”. As scientific progress leapt forward in the late 19th century, they attracted financial and government support through the states’ land-grant university system. Higher education exploded in popularity. A high school degree was essential, but there was no substitute for a college education. And while math, science and engineering benefitted greatly, the social sciences and other liberal arts, while worthy—certainly to me—prospered less during this era 100 years ago.

The rapid development of colleges and universities was not lost on the carnival and circus communities. Circuses travel from spring to fall. As the bosses were packing up to move down to Florida for their winter break, they glanced over to the crowds swarming local college campuses. As Andy Griffith memorably recorded it, “What it was, was football”. The three-ring executives thought to themselves, these football guys are drawing huge crowds to pay money to sit in the cold up north to watch a brawl or melee of tough guys. Sometimes, one of these fellows is hit so hard he’s carried off the grassy oval on a stretcher! And, at the end of less than 1 ½ hours, they heard such cheers as they had never heard in their hardscrabble careers.

Word got around. Eventually, talented entrepreneurs like Curly Lambeau, George Halas and others got into the game, literally and figuratively, of “professional football”. They sought out talents like Sid Luckman (who invented the “T” formation). They even hired thugs—a long tradition in the circus world, as well as in the city of Chicago. It was something like “professional bear dancing” in their vernacular, but they didn’t care. Circus people knew what folks liked, and folks liked to be entertained hard.

Thus football entered most regions of the human nervous system: music, cheerleaders, carnival midway food, booming player introductions, spotlights and fireworks, and the spinal column of community marketing support. It was a surprise too: a winter circus—made to order for the early days of radio and television.

The circus guys couldn’t believe their luck. Today they must be rolling in their graves at the salaries, income, cash flowing into “professional football”. If betting at the horse races in the 30s and 40s was big, today’s football is monumental. Hundreds of thousands devote large chunks of their adult lives on what is little more than a carnival act.

“Just-popped flavor!” Popcorn in winter? Plus, one could persuade the locals to build a permanent stadium for 16 weekend games. They serve also for mass weddings and gospel revivals. Enter the modern mass media of the 1960s. The circus executives—mostly ex-construction workers— and their investors had their minds blown.

Back to last weekend: there I was in front of a TV at Ted’s Buffalo Grill in Warrington, PA, picking up a prime rib to go. I’d been listening to the Bears game on my car radio and became hungry. As regular readers know, I don’t watch TV, and my car radio is the only one I have that picks up Chicago stations here in Palookaville and its environs. Sometimes I drive on the turnpike for better reception—I’m a fan.

And there was the glowing tube at Ted’s—jerky camera edits, swooping angles as if you were a little bird, shots of the crowds looking like crazed animals. I was impressed by the sophisticated theatrical technology. But its essence is the circus. A wise man said long ago, “Beware of staring at monsters lest you become one”.

We in the horticulture industry share some features. Recently I read a reference to our catalogues as “garden porn”. I felt unpleasant, but I understood the analogy. We share the seasonality, the gypsy-like ups and downs of the internet and direct mail industry. “Do you love me this year?” etc. But we have no trapeze artists (I wish), lions, tigers or dancing elephants. But unlike football, we have no players whose knees and hips have their effective lives shortened 30 to 40%, not to mention the concussions that have begun to approach boxing levels.

Ironically, during the early years of college football, players wore little padding and a sort of leather cap. Also, they played both offense and defense, so most stayed on the field the entire game. They needed to conserve energy. So they played with care—it had not yet become a circus. Hence, few damaging injuries. Today, the players feel invincible within their armor-like equipment and post-injury therapies and medicines. They take greater risks than the players did 100 years ago. Those guys rarely, if ever, got hurt, much less damaged.

Sixty years ago, men of my grandfather’s generation used to watch Chicago Bears films at “smokers”. TV didn’t exist back then. Someone would get hold of a projector and screen, and then a set of recent game films. They’d occasionally scream and yell, just like guys do today in front of their flat screens. It can be 7° outside and the circus is in town! The real, actual circus folks now play the big casinos with their huge indoor theaters—and Vegas has become Disneyland. So, goodbye Baraboo, Wisconsin summer headquarters and the Sarasota/Bradenton winter homes where the circus folk would rebuild stage props, oil the gears of the “Wild Toad”, and raise families. Another vanishing world, like that of speed skating, (please see Black Ice Blues).

This “roustabout” culture persists somewhat in professional sports. Also, there are a few transcedent geniuses. Randy Johnson, Greg Maddux, Joe Montana, for example. Dick Butkus, Richard Dent, Michael Jordan. And today’s Aaron Rodgers, Brian Urlacher, Roy Halladay and Derek Jeter. True, God-given super talents. But the rest? Wonderful athletes playing their hearts out for the peanuts and popcorn. Expensive snacks these days, and the players make stratospheric salaries. But, that’s marketing. We go to glimpse the geniuses. And we pay.

George Halas—the man who created what we now call football—was having a problem meeting payroll back in the ‘30s. It was still the Great Depression Era. He called up Curly Lambeau and asked for a loan. “No problem.” Later, Curly needed a new coach for the Packers. George told him about Vince Lombardi. “He’s very good.” The rest is history. The greatest players in those days got a few thousand a year, while the coaches made what a school teacher would make today.

Like I say, circus people.

I hate to return again to last weekend. But it galls me to see a tremendous quarterback who is as cool as a cucumber, like Aaron Rodgers, wearing a mustache and chin beard. What’s up with that? And Ben Roethlisberger of the Steelers wears a jaw beard. Enough with the facial hair! My man, Jay Cutler, who learned of his type one diabetes only a couple of years ago, is clean shaven. Now in his late 20s, he will have challenges keeping up in the brutal world of the NFL. He put in a fantastic season, given his condition, of which few are aware. (And where has Caleb Hainie been hiding?) Cutler shaves meticulously every morning. This is the mark of a gentleman. A civilized man. God bless him. Maybe he’s a gardener. This will comfort him in the off-season. And gardening beats golf.

Now are dark days in the garden. Much of North America is under snow cover and even in south Florida and the Pacific and desert southwest, regions that effectively have 12-month growing seasons, with all the cold and rain, plant growth has virtually ground to a halt—it’s winter.

Winter’s hard on animals too. The news is full of the hardships that people endure during winter. To begin with, there’s the cold itself. There are blizzards; the streets remain unplowed, and in California, there are houses taken by mudslides. In winter, there’s more illness—colds and flu, “the blues”, and even dry skin and dry nasal membranes. The list goes on and on. But, in terms of illness (and almost all else, for that matter), we forget how easy we have it compared with our ancestors.

Health care in the first half of the 19th century (and before) consisted of such practices as bleeding and leeching, which were liberally used, and all manner of foul tasting and often poisonous potions. Anything with a bad taste and that caused relatively immediate vomiting, sweating, or purging of the lower gastrointestinal tract would almost certainly be found in a doctor’s bag. An example is calomel (mercuric chloride), which was taken orally for everything from stomachache to mental problems to syphilis. It is extremely toxic, and taken in large doses, will cause significant nervous system damage. If calomel were spilled in a college chemistry laboratory today, a Hazmat team would probably be called in for cleanup. You can imagine that after a dosing with calomel, whatever had initially ailed you would have either killed you or resolved itself.

Consider the “1850 Mortality Schedule” for Tippecanoe County, Indiana. What you see is that people did not live long. Many in the list are young children, and much of the mortality is caused by diseases that to us seem far away and long ago—cholera, typhus, small pox, malaria. These sorts of statistics are widely available for other regions too. Indiana became a state in 1816, and by the mid-19th century, it was a representative part of the rapidly expanding heartland; it was largely rural and relatively primitive, but it was not uniquely disease ridden and conditions were pretty much the same in the cities as in the country, there and in the East.

In those days, there were many ideas of what caused disease but almost all of them were wrong. “Miasma” or bad air was thought to cause all sorts of illnesses. A general theory of disease was that the body was somehow out of kilter and must be “shocked” to return to health. We now know that many of the diseases that have plagued humans throughout our existence are caused by microorganisms. In the early part of the19th century, though, there was essentially no awareness of microorganisms themselves, let alone their role in disease. Nor was there an appreciation for the relationship between sanitation and disease. This was true even among physicians, who might or might not have had any formal training.

But this ignorance was rapidly dissipating. In the 1860s in France, Louis Pasteur demonstrated definitively that contamination was caused by air-born microorganisms and that the spoilage of food could be prevented by heating (“pasteurized”). Pasteur was also instrumental in the evolving knowledge and development of vaccines against such diseases as rabies. At about the same time in England, Joseph Lister developed the concept of antisepsis and applied antiseptic techniques to surgery with what at the time must have seemed to be an uncommonly low incidence of post-surgical infection. Somewhat later, Robert Koch in Germany isolated Bacillus anthracis (1877), Mycobacterium tuberculosis (1882), and the Vibrio cholerae (1883) and showed that these bacteria caused anthrax, tuberculosis, and cholera, respectively. The detection of a disease-causing agent smaller than a bacterium (a virus) occurred shortly before the end of the 19th century and launched the new field of virology.

Not all disease is caused by microorganisms of course, but this, the “germ theory of disease”, is the foundation of modern medicine. And it was clear at the beginning of the 20th century that a next great advance in medicine would be discovering and developing agents to kill or inhibit microorganisms—chemotherapy. The most successful of these has been the antibiotics, and the first and most familiar antibiotic is penicillin.

Penicillin is a natural compound produced by a common fungus (Penicillium spp.) that routinely contaminates fruit and appears as a blue-green fuzzy mold. Luck or serendipity often plays a role in science, and such was the case in 1928 when the Scottish bacteriologist Alexander Fleming found Penicillium contaminating his petri plates. He noted “zones of inhibition” surrounding the contaminating fungi where the bacteria he was culturing did not grow. Fleming surmised that it might be the fungus inhibiting the bacteria. Upon testing, he found that the fungus, even when an extract was diluted to 1 part in 800, inhibited growth of his staphylococci. Fleming had served in the Royal Army Medical Corps in France during World War I and had seen many soldiers die of bacterial infection. The therapeutic potential of his extract was not lost on him. He named the inhibiting compound “penicillin”.

Basic research was begun with Fleming’s fungus and continued in England for the next 12 years. Procedures to isolate and concentrate penicillin were established, and animal studies demonstrated that penicillin was effective against an array of pathogenic bacteria. But efforts to grow the fungus in larger-scale batches with yields of penicillin that would be necessary for more extensive clinical trials or practical therapeutic use failed.

This changed when, in July 1941, two British scientists left England, deep at war with Germany, to collaborate with American scientists at the USDA Northern Laboratory at Peoria, IL, where there was expertise in fungal nutrition. Progress was made, and shortly before the USA entered World War II (8 Dec. 1941), yields of penicillin made by Fleming’s fungal strain had been increased by 10 fold. It was another serendipitous event that brought about this increase, the addition of a novel component, unknown in England but quite familiar to the Peoria scientists, to the fungal growth medium—“corn steep liquor”, a high nitrogen byproduct of the wet corn-milling process.

At the same time that different growth components and growing conditions were being investigated, new strains of the fungus were being tested. A discarded cantaloupe yielded a strain that proved to be a superior penicillin producer. America, now at war, enlisted the help of pharmaceutical companies to optimize fungal growing conditions and improve penicillin yield, recovery, purification, and packaging procedures. Several companies including Lilly, Merck, Pfizer, and Squibb began scaling up efforts to this end.

By early 1944, penicillin production began to increase dramatically, and Pfizer opened the first commercial plant for large-scale penicillin production. Barely 1.5 years later, by mid-1945, when World War II ended, penicillin was commercially available under prescription and distributed through standard channels at affordable prices. It was the preferred treatment for infections such as bacterial pneumonia, streptococcal throat infections, scarlet fever, syphilis, diphtheria, bacterial meningitis, and septicemia.

In 1945, Fleming and two other British scientists, Ernst Chain and Howard Florey, were awarded the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine “for the discovery of penicillin and its curative effect in various infectious diseases”. Penicillin changed the world. To appreciate its impact, imagine yourself in a crowded auditorium. Look left then look right—one of those two people would not be there were it not for penicillin. Where simple scrapes resulting in infections or strep throat routinely killed children (and adults), children are now sent off to school 12 hours after a dose of amoxicillin. Most bacterial infections today have little or no lasting importance in our lives.

Who grew the rotting cantaloupe from which the high-producing penicillin strain was isolated I don’t know. But it makes no difference if it was grown commercially or in a local Peoria garden. While perhaps you’re perusing seed catalogues and maybe sitting by a fire, consider what miracles have come from gardens and enjoy the winter.

The epidemic of childhood obesity is now the nation’s disease, an ailment, if you will, afflicting the body politic. The phenomenon of obese American children is no anomaly, but rather the inevitable outcome of untoward legislative and corporate influences, lifestyle trends, marketing machinations, economics, and modern family life. The factors driving the childhood obesity epidemic are varied and multitudinous—a dystopic cornucopia, one in which the fruits and vegetables are replaced with hamburgers, French fries and soda.

The lineup of culprits includes disproportionate portions, urban food deserts, school vending machines, corn subsidies, marketing, cheap empty calories, latchkey children, supersized fast food, trans-fats, the disappearing home-cooked meal, expensive produce, too much restaurant dining, vanishing phys ed. classes, sugary breakfast cereals, cultural environment, erratic diet, the Farm Bill, the fateful sirens of sugar and fat, too frequent snacking, fried everything, sedentary hours kids spend watching TV or online, big ag, nutritional ignorance, misleading labeling, junk food. What we have here is a conspiracy to render children fat, and it has succeeded.

Whoever is to blame for this phenomenon, it is surely not the afflicted kids. We cannot expect them to make the right food choices, when healthy foods are out of reach, and nutrition-smart role models are not in evidence. The First Lady’s initiative represents a welcome beginning to what will have to become a nutritional revolution, both for children and adults.

I feel for the overweight and obese kids who are often marginalized by their peers, their elders, and popular culture—as if these young victims had wished their way into their predicament. The reflexive disfavor accorded obesity is one of the last bulwarks of self-righteous snideness. As obesity is an illness, and its rapid spread an epidemic, we are stigmatizing the sick for their sickness.

The saddest thing about childhood obesity is it is unnecessary. Americans seem to forget that our country remains the breadbasket of the world. It is inexcusable that American children are getting so much lousy food and so little good food.

As American adults morph into grown children, becoming increasingly self-involved and impulsive, American children are correspondingly prematurely aging, suffering from ailments that were once largely the provenance of older adults.

The health effects of obesity are well-established. The long-term effects include “early onset diabetes” and premature hip and joint problems. Overweight children are deprived of so much that makes youth youth. “Old is the new young.”

As an agriculturist and horticulturist, I can reveal what makes a significant and lasting difference to children’s diets and overall health, a resource conspicuously overlooked amid all the national hand-wringing about overweight kids. The answer: fruits and vegetables.

Wise and good people have mightily stressed the complex problems causing obesity, while giving too little attention to the simple, straightforward solution. As parents, educators, nutritionists and marketers, we have to imbue our children with the love of—and consumption of—the most beneficial food for growing bodies: fresh vegetables and fruits.

Despite evidence of the benefits of fruits and vegetables—home-grown or store-bought—for both children and adults, all efforts to promote increased consumption have failed.  It’s easier to persuade an adult to quit smoking than a child to eat vegetables.

As kids, we imitate our elders, who teach most effectively by example. According to a recent news report, just 26 percent of adults have three or more servings of vegetables a day, a number that includes those who deem a tomato slice or lettuce on a burger as a “vegetable serving”. In other words, roughly 80% of US adults scarcely eat any vegetables.

Without exception, vegetables and fruits are healthful and not fattening. Children need to acquire the taste for vegetables; it’s not a given: every food other than breast milk is an acquired taste. The enjoyment of vegetables is simply a matter of education and familiarity, as in “family”. Children will happily eat squash, artichoke or broccoli—to the delight of the parents who taught them to do so. As for fruits, children can easily enjoy and consume them, but, like vegetables, fruits must at the ready—at least as available as all the junky alternatives.

In our research here at Burpee, we have found kids who not only eat, but grow vegetables alongside their parents, eat them regularly and with gusto. Peas, green beans and raw carrots are particular favorites with kids—ironically, the very vegetables that kids are proverbially told to eat, their parents’ admonishing fingers futilely wagging.

A full-fledged introduction to vegetables will invariably replace the junk food habit. In her recent New York Times piece, author Jane Brody wrote, “Vegetables provide dietary bulk, filling the stomach and reducing the appetite for higher-calorie foods”.

While not all American families have the benefit of a sun-filled backyard for a vegetable garden, companies like Burpee offer many vegetable seeds and plants that you can grow easily in containers—even Brussels Sprouts!

In the public sector, much can be done to help combat childhood obesity. Eighteen years ago, as president of The American Horticultural Society, I initiated a children’s gardening program; an annual symposium drew thousands of educators and community gardeners with the goal of educating and inspiring children to grow gardens in their school and neighborhoods.

Yet no single institution is sufficient; fighting an epidemic requires a multifaceted effort.  Churches could do much more to inspire families to grow vegetables. Public and private botanical and community gardening groups should augment efforts to lure neighbors to their educational demonstration gardens.

Most families, whether in the city or suburbs, can plant at least a “starter garden”—involving pre-teen children in the planting, tending and harvesting. Burpee and all home garden companies offer an array of varieties that can be grown successfully by the first time gardener, whether in a yard or a patio.

Let’s make 2011 the Year of the Vegetable. We have nothing to lose but our waistlines, and everything to gain in terms of nutrition and health. While the First Lady has boldly focused on the issue of childhood obesity, this is an issue both political parties can endorse. Vegetables are deliciously nonpartisan.

A slightly altered version of this article appeared in The Wall Street Journal on January 3, 2011.

Matthew’s Gospel tells us that it was Joseph of Arimathea who requested of Pilate and was given the body of Jesus after the crucifixion. In life, Joseph was a follower of Jesus and a rich man. After receiving Jesus’ body, he buried it in a tomb that had been carved into stone and that he had intended for himself.

In legend, the story goes, Saint Philip the Apostle sent Joseph to Britain to establish Christianity there. When Joseph made his way to Britain, he arrived in southwest England in Somerset near present-day Glastonbury. Some accounts have Joseph bringing with him the chalice used at the last supper (the Holy Grail)—these are the foundations of Arthurian romance—and some have him bearing a vial of Jesus’ blood (and/or sweat). But all the stories include his walking staff. Joseph prayed for a sign that would convince the Britons of the veracity of his message. Upon disembarking, he thrust his staff into the earth, and miraculously it sprouted and grew to become what is now called the Glastonbury Thorn. Under mild winter conditions such as those in Somerset, the Glastonbury Thorn breaks bud and flowers in early winter and then again in spring. It has traditionally represented Christmas.

The Glastonbury Thorn is in the news now because recently it was hacked down by persons unknown. This is not the first time this has happened during the last 2000 years either, if indeed the tree has existed that long. During the English Civil War (1642–1651), it was clear that it was the forces of Oliver Cromwell who cut it down and burned it. Cromwell was a strict Puritan and considered the Thorn a “relic of superstition” and a symbol of Roman Catholicism. It thus served his purposes to destroy it, and while he certainly had no fellow feeling for royals (as is evident from the treatment that Charles I received), he was continuing the work of Henry VIII who had completed the destruction of the abbey where the Thorn then grew. Henry hanged the monks to boot. In any case, whether or not sprigs of the Glastonbury Thorn will grace the Royal table on Christmas Day this year, as traditionally they have for some 400 years, I don’t know.

The Glastonbury Thorn is a form of common or singleseed hawthorn (Crataegus monogyna). This is the primary hawthorn species in the British Isles and is found throughout Europe, northwest Africa, and western Asia. It’s long been important to wildlife and humans in Europe. The hedges that are so prominent and that border fields in England and Ireland are largely composed of singleseed hawthorn; these provide nesting sites for birds and shelter for many small mammals as well as food for these creatures, and the flowers are visited by nectar-feeding insects, butterflies in particular. For several thousand years, because of its thorns and dense growth, people grew hawthorn in virtually impenetrable hedges to keep livestock in and enemies out. The hard, fine-grained wood is handsome and durable and has been used to make objects such as combs. Charcoal made from hawthorn burns at a high temperature and for generations melted metal. There are also various herbal medicine preparations made from hawthorn.

Glastonbury Thorn itself is designated as C. monogyna cultivar Biflora because of its unusual habit of flowering in winter as well as spring. Hawthorn in general is a long-lived plant, but it’s unlikely to live as long as the 2000-year-old tree cited in the recent newspaper accounts (250 years is reasonable, though). The first reference to the Glastonbury Thorn is in the early16th century poem Lyfe of Joseph of Arimathea; it may well have originated only a generation or two before that. What accounts for the unique winter-flowering characteristic is unclear, but that trait is not maintained in trees grown from Glastonbury Thorn seed. It is only expressed by Glastonbury Thorn cuttings or buds grafted to rootstock. Human intervention did not determine Glastonbury Thorn, but human intervention is required to preserve it.

The British may have lost a national treasure, but that was long ago. In all likelihood, the tree destroyed by Cromwell’s troops was the original one; the recently vandalized one was certainly a clone of that. Since at least the early part of the 18th century, Glastonbury Thorn has been extensively reproduced by means of cuttings and buds (just as is done to maintain desired traits in apple cultivars), and it has been distributed worldwide. Glastonbury Thorn is not in imminent danger of extinction; there are plenty of examples of it, and presumably, apart from the rootstock, they are all identical to the original. It can even be found for sale on internet nursery sites, both in Europe and the USA.

It’s my guess that the tradition will continue. The Queen will get her sprigs of Glastonbury Thorn for Christmas Day. They will not come from the tree at Glastonbury clearly, but did they always anyway?

Was Kepler a bad mathematician? He apparently made lots of computational errors. What aids he used in his ciphering I don’t know. Sliderules were available in his day, but there were not even HP programmable pocket calculators and certainly no supercomputers, so it was all paper and pencil stuff. In fairness, his mind was surely on bigger things than simple computations. He was astonishingly accurate and precise in what he inferred from his analyses, errors notwithstanding, and the laws that he formulated.

Kepler established that the planets orbiting our Sun describe ellipses—not circles. This is the basis of his first law of planetary motion. From it, comes his second law that a line joining a planet and the Sun sweeps out equal areas during equal intervals of time. It is this law that explains why change in daylength is not constant and why we in the Northern Hemisphere, now at the end of November, are so rapidly and noticeably hurtling toward the long nights of winter.

When I last visited Fordhook Farm outside of Philadelphia, it was mid October. This to me is the best time of fall. The days are still long and may be warm or have just a hint of chill, but the transition is inexorably occurring. When I arrived, tree leaves looked only a little dull; when I left 5 days later, bright colors were undeniably beginning to show.

My purpose for the visit was to help select rare and unusual woody plants for the gardens at Fordhook. There are large shade gardens in progress that will complement those at Heronswood gardens in Washington State, and there is lots of open space for “specimen” plants.

During the time I was there, I and Burpee’s research director scoured nurseries and private arboretums in Pennsylvania and New Jersey. Not everything we found is rare, or even unusual, but some are both, and all are great selections. They are now being planted and should be growing actively next spring.

One plant that particularly caught my attention is Franklinia alatamaha. Sometimes called Franklin tree, but more often called Franklinia, just as the old fashioned term “sweet petunia vine” soon became “petunia”. Franklinia is somewhat available, so not particularly rare, but it is certainly unusual. It has horticultural value, being lovely with fragrant, white, camellia-like flowers that appear from July through fall and shiny dark-green foliage that becomes red with cooler weather in fall. The photographs illustrate the unusual characteristic of flowering while showing fall foliage color. It’s also a bit challenging to grow.

It has historical interest because it was first brought into cultivation in the late 18th century near Philadelphia by an early American farmer turned botanist and was named after Benjamin Franklin,who was a particular friend of the man who discovered it.

Finally, Franklinia has botanical interest. It is native to the USA alone but has apparently been extinct in the wild since 1803. All Franklinia plants in cultivation, worldwide, are derived from a few seeds that were collected from the same small pocket of wild plants during a 27-year period. Therefore, it has an extremely narrow genetic base.

The genus Franklinia is a member of the family Theaceae. Most Theaceae genera have evergreen foliage, but Franklinia and Stewartia, another horticulturally important genus, are exceptions and deciduous. The most familiar genus in the family is Camellia, which is extensively used as an ornamental but is most grown as the source of tea. Franklinia has one species only, alatamaha.

Franklinia will reach about 30 feet high, although two early reports of it in cultivation (1831 and 1846) describe 50-foot trees. It has a pyramidal form when young that becomes more rounded as it ages with lots of stems or trunks developing that lie on the ground and “self-layer” (form roots where touching soil). Two “Franklin trees” growing at Harvard’s Arnold Arboretum are a little more than 100 years old and have become giant spreading things 20 feet high and 30 and 50 feet across. Franklinia grows well in sun to partial shade but will flower best and show better fall color when grown in full sun. It can be somewhat finicky. It does not tolerate clay soil and is not drought tolerant; it does best in well-drained, humus-rich, moist soil that is slightly acid (pH 5–6), and is hardy to USDA hardiness zones 5A through 8B. It is well suited as a border or specimen plant.

The tree was first seen along the Altamaha River in southeast Georgia in 1765 by John Bartram and his son William. John Bartram (1699–1777) was an American botanist, horticulturalist and plant collector. Bartram had no formal botanical training. He traveled widely, usually with his son, throughout the eastern part of what became the USA and to the shores of Lake Ontario identifying and collecting desirable plants. He corresponded and exchanged plant material with the leading botanists of his day, including Carl Linnæus, the Swedish natural philosopher whose work forms the basis of modern scientific nomenclature. Bartram and his son William are credited with introducing into cultivation as many as 200 plant species native to North America. The Bartrams established the first U.S. botanical garden at what is now Philadelphia. The site today includes a botanical garden, meadow, parkland, wetlands, and the original house (see http://www.bartramsgarden.org; verified 19 November 2010).

At that time in 1765, the trees were not in flower and could not be identified. Eleven years later, William returned to the area and collected seed that he cultivated at the nursery at Philadelphia. The Bartrams named the plant using Franklin’s name for the genus and an alternate spelling of the Altamaha River as the specific name. By 1783, William had sent two Franklinia seedlings to Linnæus and had planted two in his own garden. It was these that were surveyed in 1831 and 1846, and presumably, it was from these, or cuttings thereof, that the Franklinia growing at the Arnold Arboretum are descended. The Bartram’s Garden has determined that at least 2000 Franklinia are growing at private and commercial properties as well as public gardens around the world; the oldest of these are at the Arnold Arboretum.

We can only speculate on why Franklinia became extinct in nature. Cultural observations suggest that the Franklinia grows best in more northern climates. If so, the ideal climatic zone is probably different from that of the Altamaha River area. What the Bartrams found in 1765 must surely have been a declining remnant of a once larger population that for whatever reason(s) persisted there. Since the beginning of this current interglacial age about 12,000 years ago when ice sheets began receding, the climate of North America has never been the same; it has been continuously changing. A reasonable possibility is that a changing climate set in motion factors that contributed to the demise of the Franklinia. One of these factors would have been habitat loss and, with that, decreasing genetic fitness as the population collapsed and contracted; another, and perhaps final, factor may have been the introduction of diseases that accompanied the wide-spread cultivation of agronomic crops such as cotton in the neighboring areas. But who knows?

Come see the new gardens and the newly planted Franklinia at Fordhook Farm in the spring. Six 2011 Open Houses are planned for both Fordhook Farm and Heronswood Nursery. Watch the websites for the dates of these events.

It’s probably imagination, but it seems that most snail or slug attacks occur after a recalcitrant seed has finally germinated or a weak plant is showing signs of vigor. Everyone who’s ever had a garden is well aware of the damage snails and slugs wreak. They can be incredibly destructive, decimating rows of seedlings, disfiguring perennials, and chewing fruit. They have a major impact on commercial agriculture and nursery plants too.

Taxonomically, snails and slugs are mollusks, as are other invertebrate animals such as clams, scallops, and oysters; they are placed in the class Gastropoda, which is a very large group with some 400 families and as many as 80,000 species. From the Greek roots, gastropods are literally “footed stomachs”. And eat they do, some consuming several times their body weight in a day. In addition to garden plants, various gastropod species eat animal waste, carrion, algae, small arthropods, fungi, lichens, worms, and others of their own kind.

Snails and slugs are essentially similar organisms. There are marine and terrestrial examples of both; the terrestrial ones have lungs rather than gills. Snails, of course, have shells and must occupy an ecological range where calcium for shell building is available, and because of their shells, they are less compressible than slugs. Slugs are descended from snails, though, and most slug species retain vestigial shells, albeit reduced ones, that are mostly internal, but some have no shell at all.

Terrestrial gastropods are adapted to most environments, but they require some moisture for survival and will thrive in moist, cool climates like the Pacific Northwest. They do perfectly well even in the desert southwest, though, as long as there is a source of moisture, such as irrigation. They are mostly active at night; they avoid the sun and hide during the day in soil or under cover. If there is a period of drought or cold weather, gastropods can enter a period of low metabolic activity. Snails will seal themselves in their shells with a layer of slime, and slugs will move underground. Gastropods overwinter as eggs, juveniles, or adults.

Gastropods are hermaphroditic; though most begin life as males, they later develop female genitalia as well (that doesn’t mean though that they can breed with themselves). As soon as gastropods hatch, they begin feeding. They can reach sexual maturity in 3 to 5 months and begin reproduction themselves. Terrestrial gastropods lay egg masses in soil or on objects such as plants. They lay several “clutches” of eggs per year. The eggs are resistant to heat, cold, and drying, and under favorable conditions, hatch in about 1 month. The cosmopolitan brown garden snail (pictured), Cornu aspersum, lays as many as 100 eggs in each of one or two clutches per year in cooler climates and up to six in warmer climates.

The destructive snails and slugs seen most often in gardens and agricultural fields and greenhouses are largely nonindigenous to North America (most of our native gastropods are not particularly harmful to plants). Many were intentionally imported. The brown garden snail is thought to have been brought to San Francisco from France in the 1850s as a culinary delight, but it quickly escaped to feed in neighboring gardens and from there colonized most of the rest of the continent. Giant African snails, Achatina fulica and A. achatina, which are illegal for individuals to possess in the USA and may transmit human pathogens, have been imported for their shells and as pets and classroom science projects. There are currently no naturalized populations in the continental USA, but these snails are a significant threat and are known to eat as many as 500 different plant species. Other gastropods were introduced accidentally with agricultural shipments or as simple stowaways. Imported household tiles, presumably because of their calcium content, are frequently accompanied by exotic snails.

Managing gastropods in the garden is best accomplished by a variety of tactics. Any combination of tactics will depend on a number of variables including and not limited to the size of your garden and its climatic zone. Simple hand picking may be enough to curb them. Because snails and slugs are nocturnal and move slowly, they can be found and captured at night by means of a flashlight. All terrestrial gastropods produce “slime”, which they use for mobility and to maintain body moisture. Slime trails can be seen and followed in daylight on the ground and on plants themselves (pictured); these slime trails appear silvery in light. These can tell you where snails and slugs have been and give you some clues where to look for them. During daylight, they can be found resting under leaves, debris, clay pots, and other available objects. Limiting their likely hiding places and reducing a garden’s moisture by changing irrigation practices will ultimately reduce their numbers.

Snails and slugs have lots of natural enemies including some arthropods, reptiles, and birds, but these alone will seldom solve a snail or slug problem. Domestic fowl (chickens, ducks, and geese) will happily feed on snails and slugs, but they will also eat seeds and seedlings. The decollate snail (Rumina decollata), a predatory snail native to the Mediterranean area, has been introduced to Arizona and some other areas as a predator of the brown garden snail. Its effectiveness is mixed and its introduction controversial; it is illegal in parts of California because it will eat native as well as pest gastropods. It will also feed on plants.

Trapping can be effective. Traps can be homemade or purchased; they may be passive or baited. Clay flower pot shards or an elevated piece of wood (such as roof shake) may be an attractive hiding place for snails and slugs. Check for them every day or so. An example of a homemade baited trap is beer or sugar and yeast mixed in water in a cup buried to its rim. Traps should be easy for the snail or slug to crawl into but difficult to escape. Check with garden stores for commercial trap recommendations; Amazon sells a number of “slug traps”.

Commercial baits generally contain two types of active agents—iron phosphate and metaldehyde. Both are nonspecific and will kill their intended targets as well as native gastropods (and the decollate snail) and other soil and debris fauna, many of which are beneficial in the garden. The health risk of iron phosphate is low, but metaldehyde is toxic to dogs, cats, children, and other wildlife. Consult garden stores or county agricultural agents regarding commercial baits.

Barriers composed of copper strips or screens can be placed around planting boxes or tree trunks and will keep gastropods at bay. Copper reacts with gastropod slime by creating an electrical current; this type of barrier functions much as does an electric fence. Copper barrier tape with an adhesive back is commercially available. Also, slurry made of copper sulfate and hydrated lime can be painted onto surfaces for the same effect as the other copper barriers. This slurry, parenthetically, is Bordeaux mixture, so called because it was originally used along roadways at the edges of vineyards in Bordeaux to impart to the grapes a sickening green-blue color intended to deter passersby from sampling; only later was its inhibitory effect on downy mildew recognized.

Another form of barrier is to spread wood chips, fireplace ash, gritty sand, or diatomaceous earth. These are supposed to be too rough for snails and slugs to move on. The effectiveness of ash will clearly be short lived in areas with lots of rain, though it may enrich the soil somewhat.

However you decide to deal with snails and slugs in your garden, be vigilant and systematic. Learn which snails and slugs are which; there is lots of information with descriptions and pictures on the internet. By and large, the exotic ones will be the most damaging. Snails and slugs provide another example of how much more destructive exotic pests tend to be than their local cousins.

Three friends of forty years standing get together about twice every decade. This has been my experience. We met in our teens—boarding school and first year of college—and are now squarely in middle age.

Boarding school is either a benign or toxic form of neglect, but neglect in any case. This has little to do with Mithraism. Please observe in these pictures the signs and symbols of ancient times, unconsciously expressed perhaps, but vivid nonetheless.

First, we have wine. The origin of ritual and celebratory wine is sacrificial animal blood—mostly from cattle and sheep. The bull formed the basis of the Mithraic cult, which blended later with Greek religion and heretical Judaism to form Christianity. During the late Roman Empire the entire Mediterranean was awash with cults. The enormous population of slaves from every corner of the world—largely the vanquished of the Greco-Roman empires—mixed with dispossessed soldiers, stuck far from home awaiting pay that never comes. As a “home-like”, Messianic, universal religion, Christianity supplanted Mithraism after a couple of centuries—a long time then as now.

The two figures on the top of the magnificent headpiece represent the primal “pair” or “twin”, as everpresent in consciousness as it is in physics. In this case (1^st century A.D.), it represents Castor and Pollux, also known as the Gemini or celestial twins. They had a great influence with the Roman soldier adherents since, in my speculation, they corresponded in the minds of the soldiers to Romulus and Remus, the twin founders of Rome. Like Castor and Pollux, they were conceived by a deity.

The four mace heads—two on each side—that complete her crown were also familiar to soldier and slave alike, and exuded power. She is an Aphrodite Mithraic goddess composite, since her necklaces are Greek, her headpiece Roman (Aphrodite’s counterpoint was Venus), and her face—specifically the eyes—Egyptian in style. Mighty Egypt!

Many soldiers—families of them in some cases—from the Greek and Roman empires found themselves in Egypt for generations. If they had no money nor anyone to return to, they’d try to find a home. Those that didn’t die from loneliness or disease either found a local woman or joined a cult.

Believe me, boarding school may not be ancient Sparta, but in the 1960s it was highly disorienting to be set adrift and far from home at 13. We may not have joined cults, but we formed friendships that have the strength of those among freed slaves. In an odd way, my home is like a recreation of boarding school. Even the gardens and nursery surrounding it are similar: always growing.

Note the wine. As I say, it corresponds to the bull’s blood. You may know that there is an excellent beet grown exclusively for its deliciously bitter red leaves called ‘Bull’s Blood’ that is leafing right now. Cool nights and warm days create a uniquely tangy flavor.

There are many other leaf crops that echo the red of blood. The sweet blood of the sacred bulls was no less important than the cow’s milk. The part of our galaxy called “The Milky Way” refers to the milk left behind by a departing herd of sacred cows. They are gone; their milk remains.

Swiss Chard ‘Red Magic’

Lettuce ‘Baby Leaf Diveria’

Bolting lettuce plants look like a row of people.

Oakleaf ‘Rouxai’

The wines are various Spanish riojas, made and marketed much as the French do Beaujolais. However, these are fruitier. We devoured numerous bottles that evening and the next, since we had so much talking to do. “In vino veritas”.

Smoke is also an age-old ritual device, used to intoxicate the mind, relax the muscles, soften the atmosphere and pleasantly scent foul dwellings. I am a smoker of the ceremonial dried leaf known as cigar tobacco. Nicotine lights up the brain like few other stimulants. I do not inhale; therefore, if it gets me, it will be from bladder cancer.

However, I smoke very seldom, and drink wine the same. Celebrations only, or when I have to write a book or a long report.

Tobacco is very effective for enhancing intellectual creativity. I believe the proliferation of both prescription and illegal drug use is related to the justifiable avoidance of tobacco.

Often I have wondered if the recently rampant drug use among youth and emerging adults is caused by the disuse of natural talents such as music and painting. I paint very little, but I play the guitar each day, like praying. These are made by Bil Mitchell and are among the finest flat-top guitars in the world. Cheap too. Since he cuts, carves and makes them alone by hand, and patiently corrects the tone with each phase of assembly, he creates a literally perfect instrument.

There is a great bull across the street at the agricultural college. He’s huge: about 30-40% larger than a cow with a head even larger still—maybe 50%. I have no camera—don’t have the aptitude for them—so we shall have to wait for Nick to return. Sometime sooner than the next decade, I hope.

Note the large helmet size to hold her long hair. Note her extraordinary profile—she is a leader. It is hard to make out, but there is a wolf’s head holding her breast plates together. His jaw is open, teeth bared. Her mission was to terrify the enemy into submission, then kill almost all who resisted; a few of the bravest enemy would be used to reproduce her tribe. The terrified and submissive were enslaved.

Many myths surround the Amazons. The wolf always suggests Northern Europe as their birthplace. Personally, I believe Central Europe was the original site. The tallest, strongest and toughest women I’ve ever seen are in Hungary.

The Amazons’ meaning is also obscure. I like simple explanations, and the best I have heard is that they were inspired by angry widows. An example is Boedicea or Boduca, as some spell it. An English legendary figure, her husband was killed, daughters raped, village burned. She and her daughters escaped Roman captivity and fled to the woods. She organized and led surrounding villagers in a massive and bloody resistance. She consulted druids for spiritual strength. She probably loved dogs and used them as well against the Romans. She killed thousands of soldiers. “Waded into them”, as Patton said.

This is an early 19^th century French bronze. The love and adoration of powerful and brave women is a great feature of French civilization. France and Britain are closer than people think. They both love and hate each other. Their women particularly share many natural affinities—the suspicion of siblings, so to speak. Both the French and English people are extremely gifted at language, for example. And the Irish take it to the level of a fine art. The portrait of a Polish lady is by Ari Scheffer, a French painter who worked all over Europe in the mid 19^th century.

Mary’s picture of me with ‘Raydon’s Favorite’ (2011 Internet only), the best Aster in our Happiness Garden. Suit by Brooks Brothers.

Back to work!

Recent news has included discoveries of new planets, supernovas and even changes in the rates of the contraction of the original expansion of the Big Bang. A few friends have shared that these various cosmic phenomena make them feel a bit weird, depressed or anxious. In contrast, it makes me feel better, not worse. I love the idea of infinity, for example. And eternity as well. I want more, not less. I believe that living in eternity is what I, for one, am doing, and this is especially true in my job. Starlight has witnessed the drama of our millions of years. I am happy playing a mega-bit part.

Every day, as we establish the expanded “Heronswood East” display gardens at Fordhook Farm in Doylestown, PA, we relearn the many profound truths in American horticulture, all of which express its essential feature: space. Our nation possesses a lot of it. So much diversity is found in nearly 3.8 million square miles that one must reduce it, literally, to its parts.

We may as well begin somewhere:

The two main parts—quite relevant to our nursery and your regard of it—are the eastern half of the US and the western half. For example, whenever we hold our Heronswood East Open Days at Fordhook and folks come from hundreds of miles around Southeast Pennsylvania, we find it hard to hold their attention to our shade gardens. Why? The reason is simple: we are covered with shade trees in the Northeast and mid-Atlantic areas. Also, we have a longish winter. Generally, the same is true of the Southeast. Therefore, most people in the eastern half of the US love full sun gardens with a deep passion, just as they adore the sky, as in the mountains or at the beach (called “the shore” in these parts). We like what we lack, so to speak. If you dwell in a forest, you like to get out in the open.

Contrast this to the western half of the US where—except for the mountains—there are relatively few trees and, generally, almost no forests. Mainly, the reason is lack of moisture. The primary sensation is of sun and cloudless sky—relentless and rarely broken by large stands of deciduous trees. Of course the Pacific Northwest is the exception, which is why millions flock there in the summer.

Therefore, gardeners in the western half of the US tend to prefer shade gardens. Thus, most ornamental gardens are generally shaded or semi-shaded in the plains states and due west, until you reach the narrow strip of the cool and cloudy Pacific coastline.

In the eastern half, meadow plants and full sun gardens are generally preferred. Easterners hunger for the sky, and the bigger, the better. It is amusing, since it mirrors somewhat the way that westerners edge their way out of the sun and into the shade. However, the Southeast does represent an exception to this rule, but only in midsummer when the outdoor focus is sitting beside a coleus, impatiens and hosta glowing under a very large shade tree. Otherwise, stay indoors!

With the exception of the Deep South (our “Pacific Northwest”) in the summer, this bifurcation has challenged us at Heronswood to make sure we “cover all the bases”. Do we wish to create a simulation of our original full shade garden at Kingston, WA, here in Doylestown, PA? OK, but we have also to “vary the line” as Bernard Berenson said to an aspiring young artist. Few Easterners gravitate happily to a deep shade garden. They’d rather enjoy open meadow gardens, borders and full sun rare shrubs and trees such as those we have established at Fordhook Farm. We’ll have several Open Houses and plant sales next spring and summer. Generally speaking, wild horses couldn’t drag visitors into our shade gardens, even though they are extraordinary. Only the better-experienced or well-travelled gardeners “dig” our shade gardens in PA.

However, in Kingston, WA, it’s like the recent Geico radio commercial: “Give me shade, give me shade and, oh yeah, give me shade!” During winter, full-sun ornamental gardening in the Southwest is fine, when you can pull it off, particularly in southern coastal California. From Santa Barbara to San Diego is like a waking dream in winter. But generally (and this includes the Deep South as well), give western folks the deep shade. They like to look at it as well as relax in it.

At our research gardens in Heronswood East, our focus is both shifting and expanding to include a bit more full-sun plants, which you will see also in our new 56 page catalogue coming to you in late December, and on our website even sooner.

Ironically, in our research gardens at Heronswood West we lost several large Douglas Firs, thereby gaining a few thousand square feet of direct sunlight smack dab in the middle of the “Big Bang”, our deepest shade collection garden. This should create genetic selection pressure (i.e., some will die) and new results and effects over the next few years—interesting especially to our traditional Pacific Northwest customers.

My mother was born in the pine woods of western South Carolina: flat and covered in full to partial shade except near the roads, on the farms and in town. Then she married Dad and moved up to Chicago’s western suburbs, which are full of tall oaks, maples and ironwoods. Dark, dark and, oh yeah, more dark. Very beautiful, but dark! Occasionally, she would drive us kids out to the middle of the gigantic parking lot of the new big shopping center when it finally came to town. “Just look at the sky—isn’t it wonderful?” And it truly was a unique sight, like we’d suddenly risen into the sky. She actually preferred the parking lot to the store. To this day, I love that parking lot.

The “New American Gardening” I referred to in my last post is based partly on this type of effect. Much of inhabited Europe was blown to smithereens—trees included—during World War II. There opened vast open spaces, either battlefields, ruined or obliterated villages and towns or now-empty fortresses, bases and airstrips. What to do? An entire garden industry emerged from the civic movement and parks projects that resulted. Often they filled the empty spaces with the wide palette of meadow grasses and tall perennials found in the US and Russian mid-continents. That’s the origin of Rudbeckia ‘Goldsturm’, Echinacea purpurea ‘Magnus’ and the designs of Oehme, Van Sweden and Oudolf. Hardly a deep shade plant to be found.

But fear not, partial-to-full-shade-plant lovers. We at Heronswood Nursery are conducting research in both shade and sun and doing so on both coasts. For our deep-fried southern friends, we test also in the heat and humidity of southern Delaware, so both you and my maternal ancestors will be happy. I have got to keep my maternal ancestors happy.

Keep watching for upcoming dates and thanks for gardening in “eternity”.

Some garden writers seem to have an obsession with lawns.  Michael Pollan’s erroneous but extremely influential 1991 op/ed in The New York Times kicked off a two decade landscape architect parlor game.  However, the debate over the ecological and environmental value of lawns is much older.  Front or back worse?  Side lawn okay?  Organic lawn possible?  Fuel consumed by lawn mowers morally defensible?  Water sprinklers, same thing?

After more than 30 years, the anti-lawn/pro-lawn controversy rages on.  While I have no skin in this game, I do have opinions after a long career in horticulture.  Since lawns and gardens are a bit like love and marriage, it is hard for someone in the gardening industry to stay off the grass, so to speak.

Recently, I had a pleasant email exchange with an enthusiast in the “anti-lawn” movement.  It reminded me not only of my post (‘Lawn Love’) from 2009, but also of how these arguments can light up American horticulture from the inside.  Gardening in the US is not “one thing”, as it is in, say, the UK, Italy, France or Japan.  Our nation is monumentally diverse.  (Please read about my public attempt to redefine “American horticulture” at the blog ‘Virtual Horticulture’.)

An extremist (versus an enthusiast)  I have talked with works as a garden designer in LA.  He hates lawns:  the idea, history, science, beauty, value to communities in homes and parks, etc.  But this is somewhat understandable, from an ecological view, because he is from arid Los Angeles.  Naturally, he advocates zealously for alternatives to large lawns.  However, what is bizarre is that he hates all lawns, including those in non-southern California-type environments.  The passion of his misguided environmentalist extremism blinds him to the aesthetic values and sensual pleasures that lawns provide for millions of people across the US.  In fact, the beauty and utility of lawns “hide in plain sight”.  Lawns are pleasant and useful. Also, they appeal to both our pastoral and agricultural origins:  little patches of nature.  Similarly, gardens remind us of our roots in ancient civilization.  Yet, “anti-lawn” extremists talk about how nasty and environmentally damaging they are.  Imagine:  lawns are hurting the planet.  It’s like saying make-up is harmful to a woman’s health.

At least the anti-lawn debate shows that the US is a complex patchwork of widely diverse climates and microclimates.  Most lawns make gracefully contrasting companions for ornamental gardens and handsome frames or surroundings for vegetable plots in most areas of the country.  (I explain this in great detail in ‘Lawn Love’.) Yet, “anti-lawnism” reaches every corner of the nation like a virus in a horror movie.  Perhaps it’s a result of poor high school biology classes.

It seems obvious to most folks that if you are in an area that is bone-dry, you should not have a yard dominated by a water-dependent lawn.  It is both unattractive as well as unsustainable in energy and water crises.  The LA “extremist” is not an extremist if he is talking about LA and its surrounding areas.  But what business does he have getting in my Mid-Atlantic face?  I don’t disparage his groundcovers.  In fact, I sell some to him.  Why does he disrespect my lawn?

Some of the answers can be traced to the popularity of environmental extremism.  Few walk to work anymore; far more people drive.  Thus, pollution and dependence on fossil fuels.  Add man-made global warming and the result is a public outcry against the impact of the front lawn, in particular.   It is somewhat irrational, but life is not fair.  A family can drive a quarter mile to grocery shop, pay $4.00 for a single cup of flavored coffee, or pay $9.00 to see a movie that gives them grimacing indigestion, but rail against lawns.

Another part of the answer is the romance of the “New American garden” movement which began about 25 years ago, based on the landscape architect Wolfgang Oehme.  With his partner, James Van Sweden, they operated a very successful business, including estate gardens for Oprah Winfrey and many other notables.  They made great use of tall meadow grasses.  Most of their ideas derived from European public park design.  Their work is masterful and their gardens breathtakingly spectacular.  They are romantic, as in the Romantic era.  This is not a commonplace approach.  One doesn’t walk down the street whistling Beethoven.

But soon the food journalist Michael Pollan decided to take on the ubiquity—and in his mind, therefore, monotony—of the American lawn.  He is the best-selling college professor who excoriated my company in The New York Times Sunday Magazine for breeding, producing and selling hybrid sweet corn seeds.  Heirlooms had become the rage a few years earlier, due to Kent Whealy receiving the glamorous MacArthur genius grant, and well deserved too.  Now Pollan could safely criticize the hybridizers.

As I said in my previous post ‘Lawn Love’, Pollan criticizes lawn grasses as reflecting “the institution of democracy”.  This bothers him.  He wants our yards to reflect only our personal tastes.  However, what is wrong with democracy?  Don’t towns base their politics on this institution?  What other institutions would he prefer?  Or is it more just a “liberation movement” within the gardening industry?  If so, I’m all for it.  But freedom means freedom of choice, as reflected in our catalogues, and those of many others in the industry.  On lawns, as on hybrid seeds, Pollan comes across as a tyro.

For example, one finds little discussion of choice or of freedom in Pollan’s writing—food or gardening—and that is what makes him extremely popular.  He is “the authority”.  Despite their better natures, people increasingly prefer authority.  He tells people what to do, and he told the Clintons they should tear out the White House lawn and replace it with a wild meadow.  Thank goodness the National Parks System “runs” the White House and they, as well as the Clintons, wisely ignored him.  But The New York Times loves him, as do many garden writers.  He is a good but uneven writer.  Try getting through the section of  Omnivore’s Dilemma where he shoots, cooks and eats a pig, or the other where he studies his emotional responses to the sensate activities of a chicken as he is slaughtering it.  Is it supposed to be funny?  Ironic?  Satirical? Whatever it is, it is certainly vague.  Perhaps it is “post modern”:  explicitly vague authority.

Then there is “the illogical group”.  These elitists say that meadows and prairie recreations should be situated in or near urban areas.  Huh?  Is it to teach “the townies” a lesson?  Some say also that lawns are ugly in small cities and suburban areas.  How can anyone say that a lawn is ugly?  That’s like saying a horse is ugly.  Such sweeping condemnations make no sense.  Educated critics should be specific and factual.  Yet, strangely, these folks think, in some cases, that lawns are okay in public parks.  But that is exactly the kind of high-traffic space where the inclusion of a meadow restoration would be educational as well as ecologically valuable.

(This entire brouhaha actually originates in a fairly low key movement to restore Midwestern prairie grasses back in the 60s and early 1970s.  The radical extremists came into the picture over 20 years later.  Aldo Leopold was the father of the prairie restoration movement.   A colleague of Frank Lloyd Wright, Jens Jensen was one of the first advocates of restoration landscape architecture.  However, he liked lawns too. The physicists at the Fermilab Accelerator facility recreated a native prairie near my childhood home in Illinois, probably as a hobby to relieve their stress, as well as their boredom with the corn and soybean fields.  They even started a buffalo herd.  It was exciting and had absolutely nothing to do with lawns.)

So, let’s summarize.  A lawn is frowned upon at your private property, where it can, with a garden bed here and there, make an ordinary house look gorgeous?  But it is okay in a public park, which is one of the few places where an appropriate ecological restoration of native grasses or meadow plants makes sense, because there’s adequate space?  And a farm estate?  Okay to have a lawn, because it looks beautiful.  But in a small city garden? Such a lawn looks ridiculous, according to some.

Next door to us the Philadelphia Electric Company (PECO) plant is in the start of  its third year of a “native meadow” restoration.  They tore out the lawn and planted what looks like hay.  Now it seems like an abandoned factory, like no one works there. “Out of Business”.  One sees the same types of growth—the same “anti-aesthetic”—in derelict urban areas.  Check out the rustbelt cities of the Eastern US:  mile after mile of empty factories and 1950s office buildings surrounded by weeds and grasses, mostly native but some exotic.  It looks awful.  The meadow in front of the PECO plant might look terrific in a few years, especially if they get some attractive looking meadow plants—say something blooming with color.  But here’s the problem:  the building was designed for a lawn.  The windows, doors, roof line—everything about it was created to fit onto a large, attractive and pleasant lawn.

Yet, it is not entirely an aesthetic issue.  Since a meadow “goes wild”, it is supposed to be cheaper and less harmful to the environment.  But eventually it will be mowed. How often?  What if it gets diseases?  How much will the tests and treatment cost?  And there are both “critter” problems as well as security risks.  A five foot tall meadow border casts a shadow along a building, providing cover for burglars.  How much will the new lighting fixtures cost?  Would you like this problem in your home?  Why not have lawns with garden beds?

Few in the blogoverse notice Julie Messervy or Sarah Susanka’s great work.  This is unfortunate.  “The illogical group” could learn a lot from this electrifying team of architect and garden designer.  They are like an updated version of Gertrude Jekyll and Edwin Lutyens, who revolutionized English landscape architecture, garden design and domestic architecture in one fell swoop.  Messervy and Susanka could help new architects work out new designs, balancing the public’s alarm with lawns with the needs of home and business buildings .

The Romantic, Pollanesque group?  They are soldier-children.  It will probably lose steam over time as many “enthusiast” movements do.  Going overboard is not a good nautical strategy.  But there is still a huge base of support for the “anti-lawnists”.  I wish only that they would look around at what the consumers want.  They like—and want—both lawns and gardens.

Ironically, I have nothing to do with the lawn business.  I have never sold a grain of lawn grass.  I simply like lawns.  Friends have said it’s a bit odd that I “champion” them, when I sell garden seeds, ornamental grasses and perennial plants.  They say I am at cross purposes with myself.  However, I try to look at the “whole”.   Call me “Gaia Man”.  The anti-lawn movement concerns me because a nationwide rejection of lawns—even supported by well-meaning people—upsets a great tradition of home life: the perennial border, annual bed and vegetable garden surrounded by a lawn, or vice versa.  And I believe that deep rooted traditions should be preserved.

So I, too, try to be well meaning.  But ever since I reached adulthood, I have not appreciated extremists and extremism, such as environmentalists torching SUVs.  It is part of growing up.  The fight is for the objective and dispassionate truth, as Aristotle suggested.  It is not a personal fight.  Or, as William Carlos Williams said, “No truth but in things.”

We at Heronswood Nursery, Burpee and The Cook’s Garden provide our customers with choices.  Recently, I was disparaged online for comparing Heronswood to Jaguar (sexy and glamorous), Burpee to Ford (A to Z) and The Cook’s Garden to Volvo (safety).  But it’s not a bad analogy.  Everything you want for your garden in a wide range from Burpee; the exotic and strangely beautiful from Heronswood; the European and Asian accented gourmet greens, vegetable and herb rarities from The Cook’s Garden.

Championing the lawn?  No, I am just trying to help the traditional garden industry.

Four years ago, I nearly came out of my skin with excitement about “GL 581c“, the second planet from the star (“a”), which is the GL, which stands for Gliese, the name of the astronomer who discovered it. So, the star—or sun—is Gliese. I do not know what the 581 stands for. Matrix number, most likely.

But now they have found an even more likely “earth”—and, to say the very least, this is a huge development. It is called “GL 581g” (I like the “g” part), meaning it is sixth from the sun’s “a” status. While it is in our galaxy, it is not so far that we could not find it.

Furthermore, it is well within range of the earth’s temperature and appears to have possibly all the other features that planets need to support water and, thus—though the greatest mystery—an atmosphere. Estimated at about 20 light years, it is relatively close. A couple of centuries from now and we’ll be opening up “Gliese Seeds and Plants”.

I’m joking.

I made another lame joke about the previous planet last time. Now I feel foolish. This one looks very promising. It is not often that NASA issues a report so encouraging. It is inconceivable. This is not a science fiction movie, but an actual planet very likely to have life on it. The creatures? I actually don’t care much for the thought of new animals or humans. Somehow I have little interest in the possibility of them. If there was ever a case in favor of “social media”, interplanetary communication would be it.

Although I would like to try the seafood.

Needless to say, I cannot wait to see the plants.