Rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb

Back before fruit and vegetables were available year-round at the grocery store, when everyone grew their own food, people were desperate after a long winter for something fresh, but it would be months before anything could be harvested from the garden, except for rhubarb — yes, humble rhubarb, which can be harvested as early as May, even earlier if forced, and earlier still if forced indoors. It’s easy to grow and even easier to eat, especially in a pie.

As kids we used to eat fresh stalks dipped in sugar, and I can tell you it took a lot of sugar to overcome the tart taste of fresh rhubarb, probably enough to counteract any healthy benefits derived from eating the rhubarb.

It has a long history as a medicinal plant in Asia, where it originated, but it wasn’t until the introduction of cheap sugar to Europe that it became a popular food dish. Prior to that, it probably saved many hungry peasants from starving while learning how to purse their lips.

Then back in the 1870s someone made the discovery that if rhubarb is forced, it produces longer, sweeter stalks — some say champagne flavoured — a bit of a stretch, methinks. This is done by growing the plant in darkness where instead of producing foliage the stalks stretch upwards, seeking light. There’s an area in northern England that came to be known as the Rhubarb Triangle because in its heyday it produced 90% of the world’s winter rhubarb. This was due to a local source of cheap coal that provided the heat required for the dark growing sheds.

Forcing rhubarb in the garden is as simple as placing a pail or even a garbage can over the clump. If inclined, you could purchase a beautiful replica of a Victorian terracotta rhubarb cloche, but since we’re entering the era of frugal gardening, I’d stick with the garbage can.

But before you can begin forcing rhubarb, you have to grow the stuff. Fall or early spring is the best time to plant. Rather than planting from seed, it’s best to buy a plant, or scoop one from a neighbour who’s dividing a clump. Common varieties are Macdonald, Valentine, Ruby, and Canada Red. When planting the rhizomes, crowns only need an inch or two of soil over them. Rhubarb likes to be well fed, so prepare the soil deeply, adding lots of compost or well rotted manure. Choose a sunny location, allowing as much as a square meter per plant, and water until established.

The plants are fairly drought tolerant, but do need water when actively growing. Adding compost around the plant will keep it healthy. Stalks should not be harvested the first year and only lightly in the second. It’s generally best to harvest only two thirds of the stalks, allowing the plant to grow on through summer, nourishing the rhizome. Even though the leaves contain oxalic acid and are toxic, it’s quite safe to add them to the compost pile. Remove all dead ones from the plant in spring.

For an early winter treat, dig a few crowns in fall, allow them to be frozen, which stimulates breaking of dormancy, then pot them up and place in a dark cold room.  As soon as the stalks are long enough, it’s pie time.

Trees

 Make a statement — plant a tree. If it's only what, where, when, and how that's stopping you, perhaps I can help.

Maybe you've already decided on what type of tree you wish, possibly influenced by childhood memories of lazy afternoons spent beneath a huge maple, or swinging from the branch of a sturdy oak. There's nothing wrong with those choices; however, it may take half a lifetime before those trees grow
large enough for you to relive those dreams, and that's if you stay in your home longer than the Canadian average of only a few years. The beauty of planting a tree, though, is the legacy you will leave. Someday, someone may relax in the shade or swing from the branches of your tree.

The ultimate size of any tree you plant is a serious consideration. Most building lots are small these days and can barely accommodate the house, let alone a tree, and planting large varieties too close to buildings, driveways, or neighbouring properties is a common error. Keep in mind, too, that a tree with a 25 cm wide trunk requires a soil surface of about 20 square metres to stay healthy. Fortunately, nurseries stock a wide range of smaller trees that are more suited to smaller gardens.

Before choosing a tree, consider the conditions around where it will be planted — things like sun and shade or type of soil. Most trees will adapt to local soil conditions, but some will have preferences as to how wet or how dry, how sandy or how clay-like the soil is. Try to select a tree with a shape that will complement the desired function. 

Do you need a  tree that will act as a screen or a windbreak, one that's dense enough to provide summer shade, or one that's airy and open like the honey locust with its lovely lime green foliage? If you have this information before heading out to the nursery or tree farm, it will be easier for knowledgeable staff to make recommendations. Early spring is a good time to plant deciduous trees whilst they're dormant and more so for evergreens. Fall can be a better time to plant deciduous as it allows them to direct growth to the roots before winter. In spring there's a greater demand for water in summer when the tree has leafed out.

After purchasing a tree, be kind to it when handling and transporting. Lift the tree by the container or root ball and not by the trunk. If you can't plant it right away, leave the tree in a sheltered corner out of the sun, but don't forget to water it.

Digging a good hole for a new tree can be a challenge. If the ground is very dry, give it a thorough soaking ahead of time and digging will be much easier. Planting depth is most important. The tree should be planted with the root flare visible --  where the roots leave the trunk. It may be not be visible in the container if it was planted too deep. Always dig the hole wider rather than deeper. Make it bowl-shaped not pail-shaped, up to three times the diameter of the container and loosen up the soil only a little at the bottom, leaving a slight mound on which to set the root ball so that the tree won't settle.

Remove the tree from its container at the last minute before planting and check the roots. If wrapped in burlap or in a fibre pot, remove as much as possible after the tree is in the hole. Current advice is to shake off or even wash off the roots because the material it was planted in will be nothing like the local soil. Check the roots and if they've been circling in the container, loosen them and spread them  out.

When filling in the hole, don’t amend the soil. Enriching a small area around the tree with large amounts of manure and peat moss isn't advised as it will only discourage the roots from spreading. There is no need to add fertilizers. Pack the soil in carefully and water well, but don't drown the roots, especially if the soil is slow to drain. Continue to water as needed until your tree is established, keeping the soil moist but not soaking wet. Mulching with wood chips will help retain moisture, so put down a layer
about 50-70mm deep and do not pile it against the trunk.

Unless the tree is especially tall or in a windy location where it's going to be whipped about, it isn't essential to stake or anchor the tree. If you feel it may be necessary, keep it lower on the trunk and anything wrapped around should be soft — no tight ropes or wire. A piece of loose fabric or old pantyhose is good, but guys, ask first.

And that's the what, when, where, and how, of planting a tree. As for the why, it's because trees are essential to our survival. Care for them and they'll care for us. They are the lungs of the planet.

You don’t need a license to grow trilliums

I can’t say the now defunct design of the last Ontario licence plates concerned me particularly, but it was nice to see the trillium featured on them. I also liked the reference to gardening with the statement that Ontario is a place to grow. The trillium has been Ontario's floral emblem since 1937, and as I’m sure everyone knows, that funny little symbol with three points does represent our provincial flower.

The trillium is also the state wildflower of Ohio, but they don’t honour it the way we do in Ontario. During World War I, the Ottawa Horticultural Society suggested the gentle white trillium should be planted on the graves of Canadian soldiers to signify the homeland left behind, however it was never pursued.

I have a trillium flowering in my garden now, despite suggestions circulating that anyone with a trillium must have plucked it from the wild and in doing so broke the law.

I’m happy to report that I have not, nor am I likely to end up in jail or even be arrested. That’s because it is not against the law to pick or remove trilliums from woodland, unless of course the location is private land. With a slow spring this year, trillium blooms are peaking, or may have passed further south, after lighting up the forest floor. With so many in bloom it’s not surprising that someone is tempted to scoop a few blooms, or even dig up the whole plant.

Although not protected by law perhaps they should be, as should all our precious wildflowers. Picking the trillium for its flower causes damage to the leaves and stems that are essential to future growth. Trilliums don’t transplant at all well from a woodland, and besides harming the plants, it removes the enjoyment for others.

Fortunately, you can grow them in your own garden because they can be purchased from many nurseries that specialize in, and propagate, wildflowers. The trillium you most likely see growing everywhere is Trillium grandiflorum, although according to Ontario Parks, there are another four species.  There’s the red trillium, the painted trillium, the drooping trillium (listed as at risk) and the nodding trillium — I’m not sure I’d be able to tell the difference between the drooping and the nodding.

The red trillium is Trillium erectum, and it’s easy to spot when it pops up in the middle of a patch of white ones. It would even be easy to find one in the dark. Unlike the white variety, which has no fragrance, the red one has the delightful fragrance of day-old roadkill, perfectly designed to attract pollinating flies — and another valuable pollinator plant to add to the garden.

Despite being called the red trillium, the flower has a slightly more burgundy look about it. In fact, deep in the forest there have been reports of ones with slight variations in colour, even orange — I’m still looking. The common name for the red trillium is ‘wake robin’, said to have referred initially to the European robin. Both it and our native robin have similar colouring, and I’m only guessing, but as the breast colour of both birds leans toward orange rather than red, maybe an orange trillium was more common a century or so ago.

There is another species of red trillium I’d like to try growing in my garden and that’s Trillium chloropetalum, the giant wake robin, and it’s a beauty, growing as high as forty-five centimetres high (18 inches). Although native to California, it is a zone six plant, making it hardy enough to grow here.

Wait, there are more. About fifty other species of trillium have been recorded, mostly in North America, though generally further south. So, do watch out for any unique species, but no picking. Unlike those old license plates, they’re not collectors’ items.

Triple mixed up about soil?

Enthusiasm for gardening is at its highest this month, for life-long gardeners and for those about to stick their trowels and shovels into soil for the very first time. But what soil? It used to be easy: call up someone and get a load of topsoil dumped in the driveway. Then the big yellow bags appeared offering a tidier delivery system for regular soil. Tidy yes, but getting the soil out of the bag with a shovel and into a wheelbarrow does make demands on rarely used body parts.

Most plain topsoil is what was stripped from farmland prior to the building of new homes. It might have started out as good soil, but after being stockpiled, sometimes for years, it becomes compacted. This results in the loss of much of the important microbial life. Adding compost will help restore life to the soil.

Also available in bulk is triple-mix. Recipes vary, but it’s typically a blend of soil, peat moss, and compost from leaf and yard waste, and it’s a good choice for most situations. The only drawback is it tends to settle as the organic matter decomposes and after one season it will need topping up, so maybe allow for this when ordering.

When the opportunity arrived to pick up small, easily transported bags of soil, it became so much easier to tentatively begin gardening by filling a planter or two with bags of soil brought home with the groceries. These small, colourful bags are currently stacked up at grocery or hardware stores like sandbags in anticipation of a flood.

The sight of all these bags must be confusing for the new gardener. I wouldn’t have a clue what to use in my garden or in planters if I was just starting out. Garden soil, three-way mix, black earth, potting soil, and what about the equally attractive bags of compost that buttress those bags of soil? There’s sheep compost, cattle compost, maybe horse or even chicken compost. Whenever I pass by I find myself humming Old MacDonald’s Farm.

Which one to choose? For small raised beds, the three-way mix, much the same as triple mix is fine. With the one labelled simply as garden soil I’d be inclined to add the compost of your choice. Plain garden soil is fine for a garden, but not recommended for planters — a soil-free mix can be better for that purpose.

A soil-free mix is composed mostly of peat moss and perlite, or maybe with wood fibre as an environmentally friendly alternative to peat moss. It may be labelled as potting soil. If unsure, simply check for the bag that’s soft and feels light compared to ones containing more soggy soil. The latter can be lightened by adding peat moss or coir. Major brands are now adding fertilizer or mycorrhizal fungi to the mix, though not essential.

Black earth can be a puzzle, and I don’t know why it’s called earth and not soil. It would be easy to assume that because it’s black it must be nutrient rich soil; however, that isn’t necessarily so as good soil comes in all colours, like the red soil of Prince Edward Island, for instance. Black soil (or earth) could have come from a swampy area or it could have been darkened by adding leaves. Unlike the composts that are produced and sold, there are no requirements for the analysis of plain soils unless the producer does it voluntarily.

Compost is regulated by the provincial government as well as federally through the Canadian Food Inspection Agency. Regulations are set out to ensure heavy metals and other toxic materials etc. are not present. For more information on compost, see The Compost Council of Canada website.

Tulip History

 It wouldn’t be spring without tulips. They pop up like targets in a shooting gallery, in perfectly coordinated clumps, and in great swaths of every colour of the rainbow. That’s largely thanks to The Netherlands where they’ve been growing and breeding more varieties for us to enjoy for the last four hundred years.

But that’s not the beginning of the tulip story. It began, oh, a thousand years ago when someone, wandering through a valley in the Mountains of Heaven, spotted a delightful little wildflower. It would have been familiar to local people but unknown to travelers from Europe. And so began a long journey west along the ancient silk road, the route traders had travelled for centuries carrying goods between East Asia with Southern Europe.

 The Mountains of Heaven, or the Tien Shan Mountains as they’re known, are in the border region between North west China and Kazakhstan. However, the tulips growing there would not have looked like the ones growing in the front garden. Though similar, these wild tulips would have been much smaller and wouldn’t have the unusual colours and forms we see today.

 Whoever that person was, they dug up a few bulbs thinking they’d be nice to take home to Constantinople – now Istanbul, Turkey. At least that’s where the tulip was first recorded as having been cultivated, as early as 1055.

 When the Ottoman Empire arose there in the fourteenth century, the fortunes of the tulip rose with it. As for the name, it’s possible it came from a Persian word for turban because it resembled the headwear, or it could be because the Ottomans wore the flower on their turbans like an elevated boutonnière. Regardless, the elite of society raved about the tulip and it became a symbol of the Empire, and a material possession that defined nobility. In Turkish culture where it became a symbol of paradise, it gained an almost divine status.

 The Ottomans weren’t the only ones to go crazy about this unusual flower with such deeply saturated petals. When Ogier de Busbecq, the ambassador of Ferdinand I, Holy Roman Emperor, dropped in on the Sultan of Turkey and spotted tulips, he had to have them. No doubt he stuffed a few bulbs in his diplomatic bag to take home to Vienna. This was in the sixteenth century and it wasn’t long before tulips appeared in Amsterdam around the beginning of the Dutch Golden Age. The country had become the leading maritime power of the day and the economy was booming. Of course, those who could afford it wanted the latest and greatest, and artists, like Instagram influencers of the day, were turning out countless paintings to grace the walls of the wealthy. As tulips were frequently depicted in art, this no doubt contributed to a demand for the real thing.

 Dutch breeders began producing ever more colours and forms. Then, in the early part of the seventeenth century what came to be known as the Rembrandt tulip appeared with its streaked, bicoloured flowers. Unlike earlier varieties with more simple hues, this tulip had been afflicted with a virus that had caused the tulip to mutate. It wasn’t called the Rembrandt tulip because the artist had painted them, although many still life paintings by other Dutch masters of the day featured these remarkable flowers in their work; it referred to the city of Leiden where Rembrandt was born, one of the earliest regions to begin serious tulip growing.

 As these unique tulips appeared, it set off a frenzy of trading and the price of rare bulbs rocketed faster than a speeding Bitcoin. The period became known as tulip mania, suggesting the whole country was involved in a huge economic bubble founded on these plants. Fortunes were certainly won and then lost when the market collapsed, however more recent studies have since revealed that it was hardly the market crash of 2008 and it was only a relatively small number of traders that were involved.

 Regardless, the Dutch began breeding and hybridising, producing an ever-wider range of colours and forms from almost black to one that resembles the top of a raspberry ice cream cone. The Rembrandts of today, meanwhile, are free of the virus and that colour shift is now fixed in a limited number of colours.

Other varieties have surpassed them the Rembrandt tulips, especially the fringed varieties with their finely incised petals and the even more flamboyant parrot tulips, with ruffled and ornate petals splashed with flame-like strips or feathery patterns. Why parrot? Possibly it was the feathery petals or the beak-like shape that some saw, although the name might have appeared after the famous seventeenth century French engraver Nicolas Robert referred to them as perroquet de trois couleurs.

 Regardless, this resulted in the Netherlands becoming the major tulip grower in the world, exporting three billion bulbs annually. Over 15,000 hectares of farmland there are now dedicated to producing these bulbs. In spring, when tulips are in full bloom, huge fields are striped blankets of colour, perhaps the inspiration for the paintings of American artist Gene Davis.

 During springtime in The Netherlands those painted fields are amazing, but not for long. Within days the colour vanishes. As though an edict from the Queen of hearts has been issued, it’s off with their heads, millions of them, left to fade away along the furrows. To the casual observer unaware of the process, it must be heartbreaking, and yet it’s an essential step in bulb production that takes place in late April.

 Like combine harvesters on a prairie wheat field, similar equipment criss-crosses the tulip fields, shearing off the flower heads. This stops the plant from producing seed, and instead, energy is directed into growing the bulb in the soil below. By July the foliage has died, and the real harvest begins. In much the same way as Prince Edward Island farmers harvest potatoes, specialized equipment traverses the fields, lifting the bulbs from the soil.

To aid the process in heavier soils the bulbs are planted between layers of net that are then simultaneously rolled up by the machine for reuse, just one stage in a highly automated mobile industrial operation. The netting isn’t needed in sandy areas as bulbs are more easily released from the soil.

 The bulbs are then conveyed along, any remaining foliage and leaf litter is removed, soil is shaken free, and the bulbs are washed before they’re loaded onto convoys of trucks. The next stage takes place in a processing facility where the bulbs are again washed and sorted, and smaller offshoots are separated from the main bulb.

 These small ones will be replanted to produce future crops. Further along the line, the flaking, papery layers similar to onion skin are removed. The bulbs continue along a conveyor belt where they’re scrutinized by teams of seasonal workers, the only part of the process that isn’t automated. This is where diseased or damaged bulbs are tossed aside, and any stray roots are removed by hand. After a final wash and dry the bulbs are sorted and stored until it’s time for export when they’ll arrive in stores here in September ready for fall planting.

 The sight of the tulip fields in the Netherlands is a magnificent, though short-lived sight, and there are several locations where they can be viewed. The most famous area is along the North Sea dunes, between the cities of Leiden and Den Helder, but there are other places in The Netherlands where tulips and other spring flowers can be seen in full bloom for weeks. The most famous of these is Keukenhof near the city of Lisse, an hour’s drive from Amsterdam.

 Keukenhof, formerly part of the nineteenth century estate of Baron and Baroness Van Pallandt, is a 32-hectare park that is only open for a couple of months each spring when it welcomes close to a million visitors who arrive to view the glorious displays. These are created each fall when four and a half million tulip bulbs in a hundred varieties, plus another three million or so other flowering bulbs are planted.

 And then there’s the fragrance. Fewer than 20 percent of tulip varieties are fragrant, mainly in shades of orange, but at Keukenhof there are plenty of other sweetly scented flowers. A half dozen hyacinths near the patio are always a delight, but when a breeze carries the output of a thousand, it’s incomparable.

 A trip to see and experience this is certainly worthwhile, however there is a comparable display much closer to home and that’s the Canadian Tulip Festival held annually in Ottawa. In 2021 it will run for ten days from May 14 to May 24.

The festival began when the Dutch royal family sent 100,000 tulip bulbs to Ottawa in 1945 after the second world war ended. This was in gratitude to Canada for providing refuge for the future Queen Juliana whilst The Netherlands was under Nazi occupation.

 The royal family continues to send 10,000 bulbs each year in addition to 10,000 more from the Dutch Bulb Growers Association. The Festival also commemorates the unforgettable role of Canadian troops in the liberation of the Netherlands. Although the Netherlands is the primary producer of tulip bulbs, Canada has a small share of the market.

Vanco Farms in Prince Edward Island is enhancing the red soil of the province by growing tulips instead of potatoes. Besides producing bulbs for gardeners, the farm also grows millions of tulips for the cut flower market. After harvesting, the best of the bulbs are stored in large coolers under winter temperatures. When introduced to a warm greenhouse and planted, the bulbs are tricked into believing spring has arrived early. By planting successive crops blooms are produced from January to May to fill bouquets for stores throughout the Maritimes and Quebec.

In the garden is the place to see them growing, bringing colour to our world as winter fades. That pretty wildflower from Asia, after a journey of a thousand years from the Mountains of Heaven, and enhanced through centuries of breeding, has found a home in Canada.  It just wouldn’t be spring without tulips.