Hibiscus Returns

Last summer I purchased a beautiful little hardy hibiscus (Hibiscus moscheutos) at a local farmer’s market. The young man who sold it to me off the Twombly Nursery truck assured me it would be back the following year without much effort on my part, as long as I planted and watered it.

I dug the hole and placed it in the garden next to another Twombly truck purchase (he was an excellent salesman, or I was an easy mark) and enjoyed a few more flowers. I anxiously waited for it this spring, and it did come back – slowly, as is its habit – and now in the serious heat of midsummer it has popped. The photos are of the first two days flowers. Today, on day three, I see only one lone flower, facing the back fence as if ignoring me.

For years I’ve passed an auto body shop in Southport that has an east-facing bed of beautiful hardy hibiscus. I wondered what these exotic plants could be, with their dinner-plate sized blooms of red and white. Now I know – our garden is host to a beauty, and there’s a good possibility there will be more of them by next spring.


AR

Pumpkin Pollinators

In our Northfield Road garden we are often presented with opportunities in the form of volunteers and self-sown seedlings, and this year we allowed two pumpkin vines that sprang up on either side of our front entrance to remain. Never having raised them before, we weren't quite sure how they'd behave, and though they were in a "public" zone in front of the house, we gave them a chance. Arising from a discarded jack-o-lantern, they grew quickly in the extreme heat from tidy little bright green seedlings to twisted, sinewy vines with enormous leaves.

When flowers appeared to be dropping off and no fruits were yet visible I was distressed, thinking there was something wrong and they might never set fruit. I learned that the male flowers sit high up on tall stalks, and female flowers with their telltale bulge of nascent fruit stick close to the vine. Flowers open in early morning and the bees are all over them. I assumed that the bees would pollinate the female flowers, but the bees appeared to favor the male flowers and just loll around as the flowers slowly closed up. (I wonder if there were bees trapped inside all the closed-up, spent male flowers that dropped daily from their stalks.) One morning, after observing a fruity and promising female blossom beginning to close and no bees in her vicinity (they were all hanging out in two slowly closing male flowers), I grabbed an old paintbrush and made sure the pollen was transferred. That was my first foray into helping the pollination process, and when the fruit set and started growing I was delighted.


It turns out that the only fruit that ever did set on these two vines is the one I assisted with, so we have left the one vine with its pumpkin to develop. I learned that the vines can be "pruned" (a method used in growing giant pumpkins), and though we had hoped that the vine and fruit would stay on the relatively soft bed of juniper it rambled across, it kept going onto the hard walkway. An upside down terra-cotta flower pot base serves as a "cradle" (though it's just as hard as the walkway, but seemed a good idea at the time) and as you can see, the pumpkin in late July is already ripening. Notice the very thick neck attaching it to the vine.


Incidentally, research on the web revealed that some folks grow their pumpkin vines vertically. They are up to it (no pun intended) as our other vine had began its ascent into a nearby shrub, using strong tendrils to grab and pull itself up. Some train them to their roof (one-story houses with low-pitched roofs, you would think), pruning out the side shoots. The heavy fruits in a vertical situation can be rested in a makeshift sling. The pumpkin experience has been fun and I'm musing about a vertical pumpkin patch next year.


AR