What an electric patch of bee balm (Monarda) I passed in Riverside Park. It took me by surprise because it was rooted in shallow soil on a rocky slope — showy red cultivars generally bloom best in wetter places.
The lower right corner of the photo may reveal its secret — water leeching along the rocky escarpment. With the ten-plus inches of rain we've had in June, the roots are probably sucking up ample moisture at the stone's surface.
Bee balm in Riverside Park near 99th Street.
For some reason, many amateur gardeners I encounter think Delphinium and larkspur are two different flowers. It's alway a little tricky with common names — that's why the pros use latin names — but larkspur is the common name for the Delphinium genus.
This patch (Delphinium grandiflorum?) is the progeny of seed brought originally from Wisconsin to Riverside Park nearly 20 years ago. They bloomed prolifically for a few years, then disappeared for a while, then came back with staying power, springing up each year here and there, or where some gardener sows collected seeds. These were collected last fall by volunteer gardener Melanie Bean and sown around the perimeter of her garden.
While we seemed to have only blue flowers in the early years, there are now white and pink too — due to recessive genes in an isolated breeding population?
Larkspur along the Hudson RIver Greenway at about 97th Street.
Yes, we are looking for baby monarchs. Caterpillars, that is. We have two types of milkweed currently in bloom in Riverside Park, common milkweed (Acelpias syriaca) and butterfly weed (Asclepias tuberosa), but we have no caterpillars.
Adult monarchs (Danaus plexippus) regularly feed on these flowers, but in nearly 20 years of watching, I have witnessed only one crop of monarch caterpillars, and those were on a cultivar of (Asclepies incarnata), swamp milkweed. We have a mating population, we have food sources for both adults and larvae, so what gives?
If you don't know, monarchs that overwinter in Mexico, breed, then return northward where they lay eggs on a member of the Asclepias genus. Four generations are then born during the summer months, the first three generations live only 2 to 6 weeks. Those that migrate — the fourth generation — live 6 to 8 months and don't breed until the following spring.
Common milkweed (left) and butterfly weed (right) blooming in RIverside Park near the 97th Street overlook parking lot.
Here's a very native orange sulphur (Colias eurytheme) feeding on a very exotic and very invasive border privit (Ligustrum obtusifoium).
I would be irresponsible to plant this privet today (this specimen is probably 50 years old), but you can't say native species don't know what to do with it simply because they didn't evolve together.
Orange sulphur feeding on a privet alongside the Hudson River Greenway
Walking around Long Island City lately, where we have plenty of both lindens and 'tree of heaven' (see previous two posts), I am reminded of Charles Ives, the great American composer, whose compositions were sometimes inspired by the cacophony of overlapping marching bands — as one approaches and the other recedes in the same parade.
The overlap I'm experiencing here is olfactory however. It seems every other block in this neighborhood has an overpowering linden, while the in-between blocks have smelly Ailanthus. On one block, it's a little too sweet, while the next is too malodorous. But in the middle — a little bit stinky and a little bit saccharine — one can find the olfactory sweet spot.
Kind of like sweet n' sour pork, but for the nose.
So maybe you're not lucky enough to be smelling the sweet linden blossom in your nabe (see post below). Maybe instead, you're smelling a kind of spicy cat urine odor? (Okay, maybe cat urine is a bit harsh — I do kinda like it.) Chances are you have an Ailanthus tree (Ailanthus altissima) nearby, or what's more commonly called, "tree of heaven". Its fragrance is far from heavenly however — its Chinese name, "chouchun," means 'foul smelling tree'. This is the oft-seen urban weed tree, the tree of "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" fame. Whether or not you like it, it will grow where others can't or won't, and you have to admire that kind of chutzpah.
A. altissima is dioecious. The males produce more flowers and are the foul-smelling sex (figures) .
Male Ailanthus blooming in Long Island City