Seventh Generation Gardening

Jim Nollman, in "Why We Garden"  tells a unique story in the chapter on his Sequoia tree garden.  He relates that whenever the Six Nations of the Iroquois Confederacy held a council meeting, the  Haudenosaunee (Iroquois tribal government) took a moment to invoke the presence of the seventh future generation.  According to Nollman, under the Great Law of Peace, any vote among the living council members also included an equal vote for the needs and dignity of those who would live in the seventh generation to come. 

Isn't that just a great concept?  If in everything we did, in everything done by our system of government, there was a voice or a vote by a representative for the Seventh Generation, how would that change the debates?  What would it mean for US environmental policies?  For drilling in the Arctic tundra?  For saving the Spotted Owl?   At the turn of the 20th Century, would it have saved the Ivory-billed Woodpecker?  Or the Carolina Parakeet?  If the Executive Board of British Petroleum had a member whose sole duty was to represent the Seventh Generation, would the Gulf Spill have happened?  Unfortunately, the modern expression  of the "Seventh Generation" idea seems to have only spawned hype for any number of modern products and outcomes, from the green cleaners and laundry detergents made by Seventh Generation Inc., to the Seventh Generation Fund for Indian Development, to the proposed Seventh Generation Amendment (Common Property Amendment) for the US Constitution.

 Unfortunately, it also all seems to be based on a myth.  I'll admit that I'm cheating on the research effort, since I've only searched the Internet, but in two different translations of Great Law of Peace of the Iroquois available to me, the word "seven" is mentioned only twice, both times in relation to how thick a skin a council member should have, and the future generations are only invoked in a vague sense, as in Article 56 "They therefore shall labor, legislate, and council together for the interest of future generations,"  or in another passage that states, "Look and listen for the welfare of the whole people and have always in view not only the present but also the coming generations, even those whose faces are yet beneath the surface of the ground."  And in practice, I suppose the idea of a representative for the Seventh Generation wouldn't work in our government.  Who would speak for the Seventh Generation?  Al Gore?  George Soros?  Rush Limbaugh?
 
Luckily for gardeners, the Seventh Generation concept does work well in our own gardens.  When I planted a slow-growing Scarlet Oak at the back of my garden, who did I think would benefit from its shade?  Not me, surely, for 8 years later it still barely lifts its branches four foot above the ground.  When I plant a pecan tree, what generation am I expecting will finally be the beneficiary of the nuts that will rain down sometime in the distant future?  Do I maintain my Purple Martin houses and Bluebird trail for my enjoyment, or so that there will be a chance that Eastern Bluebirds and Purple Martins will always return to this bit of Flint Hills prairie with each Spring? How long will vanity let me leave the volunteer milkweeds alone, creating a shamble of my garden design, but providing food for the dwindling Monarch butterflies?  
 
Whether or not the story told by Nollman is true, please plant something today, make a new garden bed, or put up a new birdhouse, I urge you, for the Seventh Generation. 

Garden Tranquilizers

If, my fellow gardeners, you missed the news while you were out digging and planting, Science has recently discovered that gardening is addicting, or at least responsible for our generally cheerful moods, and even better, that gardening might make us smarter.

Stupid scientists.  We already knew both those things, didn't we?

It's all about a natural soil bacterium called Mycobacterium vaccae.  Previous research studies have shown that heat-killed M. vaccae injected into mice stimulated growth of some brain neurons that resulted in increased levels of serotonin and decreased anxiety.  Serotonin, for the medically uninitiated, is a neurotransmitter that helps us sleep, regulates our body clocks and our body temperature, and regulates our daily cycle of endogenous cortisol, calming us down at night. So, in essence, due to bacteria we're exposed to as we dig, gardening is just a big dose of anti-depressants for its stalwart devotees. It's also true that LSD acts through stimulation of serotonin receptors, so draw your own conclusions from there to some of the gardeners you know.

More recently, a study presented in San Diego by Dorothy Matthews and Susan Jenks at the 110th General Meeting of the American Society for Microbiology reported on the ability of mice to navigate a maze after being fed the bacteria..  The result;  M. vaccae-fed mice negotiated the maze twice as fast and with less demonstrated anxiety behaviors than control mice.

As gardeners, we're constantly exposed to M. vaccae through breathing or ingestion (for those who garden with an open mouth), so, in theory, every time we dig into the dirt, we relax a little bit and we get a little smarter.   I, for one, am happy to keep digging (or I'm digging to keep happy)  to get my daily fix of M. vaccae.  I'll leave it to the WEEW/OGB (Wild-Eyed Environmental Wackos/Organic Nut-Balls) to promote eating dirt clods or drinking muddy water for the "natural" benefits.

Follow-up experiments by Matthews and Jenks showed that the increased intelligence effect was temporary (diminished after several weeks)  if the exposure to M. vaccae was withdrawn, suggesting that it is important for us to keep digging regularly and perhaps explaining why Northern Hemisphere gardeners are so depressed during winter months.  Rebecca Kolls of Rebecca's Garden TV show fame was always telling us to "Keep those hands dirty!" wasn't she?   If nothing else, we now have some evidence why gardeners should be better at getting around those corn mazes that crop up everywhere in the Fall.

Green Rose Surprise

I'm sure we've all seen those cheap, small, sad-looking supermarket roses that we either pass by or we purchase on a whim, keep indoors until the blackspot denudes them, and then toss on the compost heap.  But how many of us ever consider planting one out in the larger garden?

In a moment of late summer weakness last year, and knowing I had a few square inches in the miniature rose bed, I was hijacked by the striking appearance of one of these little orphans which appeared to have, I'm not kidding, light green petals.  I did a double-take after noticing the green buds and examined it further, knowing that a green rose was impossible (except for the mutant Rosa chinensis viridiflora that has no petals and lots of sepals).  I suspected that the soil was dyed to temporarily create this appearance, but, despite feeling foolish, I purchased the little creature (partially influenced by the fact it was marked down from $6 to $3). 

Honora™

This particular rose is Honora™ also known as 'Poulpah051', a PatioHit® rose released in 2007 from Poulsen Roser A/S, and it has more than lived up to my expectations and further, surprised me again and again. Planted into my garden and on its own roots, it first surprised me by surviving a Kansas winter. And not just surviving, it was cane hardy in my zone 5 climate.  It has bloomed in several flushes this summer, and it still maintains the light mint green look in the outer and younger petals while the inner petals are white with a very light pink blush. Honora™ is classified as a miniature, but it has very large, fully double flowers (about 3-4 inches when fully open).  I'm at a complete loss to explain where the green tinge comes from, but I don't really care as long as it stays.  I haven't sprayed Honora™ all summer long and the foliage is completely immune to blackspot.  But the biggest surprise of all is the vase-life of this rose.  The spray pictured here was cut from the garden in the middle of a 95+ degree day FOURTEEN days ago.  I've done everything you do when you don't want to prolong vase life; I didn't cut the stem under water, there are no preservatives in the water, and it's sat by a window at room temperature.  But here it is, still shining and in perfect form two weeks later.  When was the last time you were able to keep a cut rose in good shape that long?  Poulsen Roser has included this rose in a trademarked group known as Long Decorative Value™, evidently for very good reasons.

I've got another of the PatioHit® roses, a bright orange rose named Estepona™, or 'Poulpah028', which also survived the winter and decorates my garden.  Who knew that those dumb little supermarket roses would do so well outside?  So, bottom line, when you get a chance or a bargain, don't dismiss these little jewels just because they are sold in mass at the supermarket.  They may just surprise you.

Mountain Sweet Yellow

If there is one group of plants that I have no complaints about attempting in the Flint Hills, it's the melon and gourd families.  Our usual early summer moisture followed by the hot, dry late summer and falls of Kansas normally result in good crops of these rampant vines.  Aside from avoiding the damage of vine borers and squash bugs, and in some years I'll admit losing everything to the little demons, I usually don't even have to work very hard to gain a good harvest.

Mountain Sweet Yellow

 I've tried a number of different watermelon's and cantaloupes since I began gardening in Kansas, but I heartedly bless the impulse that resulted in me purchasing the seed for 'Mountain Sweet Yellow' watermelon from the Seed Savers Exchange (http://www.seedsavers.org/)  several years ago.  Mountain Sweet Yellow was an heirloom melon that was very popular in the 1840's in NorthEastern markets. When Seed Savers described it as "truly one of the jewels in SSE’s watermelon collection," I felt I had to give it a shot and well worth the effort it was. Mountain Sweet Yellow results in long, large, 20 pound or so melons with dark yellow flesh and black seeds that matures in 95-100 days.  Along with the decorative appearance comes a very high sugar content and a mild watermelon taste with overtones of honey.   From a single hill, I usually harvest 4-5 large melons before I give up and let the box turtles eat the rest and, of course, since its a seeded heirloom, the only cost was the original packet of seeds. 

Of other heirlooms, I've grown the fabled Moon and Stars Watermelon, also a very large melon and a good one, but although the devotees of Moon and Stars may consider this blasphemy, it is not nearly as tasty as Mountain Sweet Yellow.  I think the former stays popular because of the fascination by children with the unique appearance, but I've found the yellow flesh and black seeds of MSY to be just as enticing to children.  I did appreciate the taste and smaller size of  a watermelon called 'Blacktail Mountain' when I grew it.  Blacktail Mountain is a red-fleshed ice box style melon that matures faster than Mountain Sweet Yellow.  There's a great comprehensive book on watermelons by Amy Goldman, Melons for the Passionate Grower, in which she described Blacktail Mountain as the "quintessential watermelon." Blacktail Mountain was bred relatively recently (in the 1970's) by a then teenager, Glenn Drowns, trying to find a watermelon that would consistently mature in the short growing season of his native Idaho.  It did perform well here in Kansas, but had a slightly lower yield than my MSY.  Blacktail Mountain is also supposed to have one of the highest sugar contents ever tested, but I find Mountain Sweet Yellow to be sweeter to taste. 

Watermelon sweetness, for those who are interested, is measured by a refractometer in degrees of Brix (essentially sugars or more accurately soluble solids).  A good watermelon has a Brix of 10, while an exceptional watermelon might be 14 Brix.  Interestingly, because of the low glycemic diet craze, there are recent breeding efforts to produce a watermelon with a low sugar content.  It isn't enough for dieticians that watermelons are naturally high in carotenoids including the lycopene that we hear so much about, no, they have to mess with the taste.  Personally, given a choice, I'll take my watemelon as sweet as possible, thank you.  Darned nutritionists ruin everything.

Moon and Stars