It Galls Me

Something always spoils the applesauce, doesn't it?  You're anticipating a good rose year, checking the roses daily and closely to catch a glimpse of that first bud on a new cultivar in your garden.  And then you see that first leaf affected with blackspot.  Or the fine new rose cane broken off at the base by recent winds.  Or the cute little spiky balls hanging on one of your roses.

Cute little spiky balls?  Wait a minute, I think those are rose galls!

I've seen similar structures on oak trees, but never on my roses.  A quick bit of Internet research tells me that my assumption is probably correct.  These galls are likely formed by a gall wasp, perhaps a Diplolepis sp. wasp, who lay eggs on the roses in spring and whose larvae then become encapsulated within a chemically-induced distortion of the plant material.  Cut a gall ball open, as I did, and you are met with a moist cavity containing a very squirmy, disgusting, tiny white larva who is quite perturbed at the disturbance. After a more careful search, I did find some smooth balls on another rose ('Banshee') which contain similar larvae, but that seems to be the extent of my infestation.   As I am not an entomologist, I'm at a loss to determine exactly which species has chosen my rose (in this case 'Marianne') to invade, but it is probably not the Rose bedeguar gall, Diplolepis rosae, as it isn't "mossy" enough in appearance. One source, a University of California Extension publication by ML Flint and JF Karlik, suggests that there are perhaps 40 different types of rose gall.  Even worse, according to Wikipedia, there are some 800 species of gall wasps in North America. 

For the life of me, I can't find a decent "reason" for the existence of gall wasps.  Okay, they form galls, but what else do they do?  Don't laugh, it's an important question.  I need to know if I should crush these galls under my heel or let them mature on the contingency that gall wasps are a beneficial predator of a far worse disease agent.  A rose blooms to please the rosarian and its pollinator and make new little rose seeds.  An oak tree forms acorns to make little oak trees and provide squirrels an incentive to plant the acorns.  Is being a plant parasite the sole purpose of a gall wasp?  To make more galls and thus more little gall wasps?

I may be waxing a little too metaphysical today.  If I carry my thought a little further, I must also acknowledge that the gall wasp may be by turn wondering what my existence means.  Does the large bipedal mammal exist solely to protect his roses and make more little bipedal mammals?  Or merely to write about his fleeting thoughts and send them out into the ether?  Exactly how many angels can dance on a rose bud?

Blanc or Philemon?

There are near white roses and there are almost completely white roses, and there are really, really white roses.  And then, according to most renowned rose experts, there is the white of Rugosa hybrid 'Blanc Double de Coubert'.    In the Rugosa family, I grow three white roses; 'Blanc', an offspring or sport of 'Blanc' named 'Souvenir de Philemon Cochet', and 'Sir Thomas Lipton', the latter of which I've written about before.  All are periodically remonant here ('Philemon' may be the most frequent bloomer) and are reliably cold-hardy in my former Zone 5B climate.

'Blanc Double de Coubert'

'Blanc Double de Coubert' is an 1893 hybrid Rugosa shrub bred by Charles Pierre Marie Cochet-Cochet (what a mouthful of a name!).   The semi-double, 3-inch blooms are indeed very white, she's very thorny, and the foliage is indeed rugose and healthy, but agreement about this shrub rose seems to end there.  Some sources say she has strong fragrance while others describe a moderate fragrance, like "Pond's Cold Cream".  Some sources say it produces fabulous red hips each fall, while a few state that it rarely produces hips.  Cochet-Cochet introduced it as a breeding of 'Sombreil' and Rugosa alba, but many experts suspect it is simply a sport of the Rugosa species. 

I can only say that, in Kansas, the tallest I've seen 'Blanc' is about 3 foot tall, and I wouldn't have labeled her as very vigorous. I'll flat out state that I'm not very fond of her at all. She seems to do better in full sunlight and without neighbors than she does in a hedge of other roses.  She has a pleasing and moderately strong fragrance, but I rarely see her set hips, and to me, a rose without hips is like a woman without....curves.  I've never seen blackspot on the leaves, but the shrub has an unfortunate tendency to shrivel up and die suddenly on me, probably indicating some dissatisfaction with my placements of her.  Oh, and I agree that she's white, but I don't believe that the white of 'Blanc' is any more pure than many other roses or other plants.  Gertrude Jekyll, herself, labeled 'Blanc' the "whitest white rose of all," and this statement gets repeated often since no one dares to argue with the blind Ms. Jekyll even long after her death, but if one accepts her statement, we have to also accept that breeders never did as well or better in the 119 years since 'Blanc' was introduced.  I, for one, think Sir Thomas Lipton is just as white and is a much more vigorous rose than 'Blanc', although 'Lipton' admittedly lacks the fragrance of 'Blanc'. 
 

'Souvenir de Philemon Cochet'

The controversy seems to continue with 'Souvenir de Philemon Cochet', which is simultaneously described  as either a sport or a seedling of 'Blanc'.  I'm personally a believer in the latter provenance, because my 'Philemon' has a distinct pink blush in cooler weather, which you can see in the picture at the left, that I have never seen in 'Blanc'.  Regardless of parentage, I firmly believe 'Philemon' is a better rose for Kansas than 'Blanc'.   It reaches about the same height, 3 foot, but is a bit more vigorous and spreads into a broader bush than 'Blanc'.  I love the very double and larger (4 1/2 inch)  blooms and the fragrance is equal, if not better than 'Blanc'.  Bred by Philemon Cochet and introduced in 1899 by Charles Pierre Marie Cochet-Cochet, it has never set a hip for me, but it does retain the thorny nature of its parent.  According to Paul Barden's website, although I think the article was written by rosarian Suzy Verrier, Souvenir de Philemon Cochet may be particularly shade tolerant, growing slightly taller in the shade, and I believe I would agree with that assessment.

So, how does one choose between these roses? If you must  grow a classic, and have the time to baby it, then I suppose 'Blanc Double de Coubert' is your woman.  If you want a more trouble-free, waist-high, almost white rose, then take Mr. 'Souvenir de Philemon Cochet' as your new rose.  And if you want an impenetrable 7 foot high hedge that repels dogs and teenagers alike, than 'Sir Thomas Lipton' would get my recommendation.   All three are starting to bloom today here in my Kansas garden.

PawPaw Possibilities

Down my eastern hillside, near the unmown prairie, I have a line of trees planted that has, through no planned vision of my own, become a sort of collection of tree oddities, at least of trees somewhat rare for Kansas.  These include a hawthorne, sourgum, bald cypress, two American persimmons planted only because my daughter likes persimmons (they're not old enough to bear fruit yet however), and a Common Pawpaw (Asimina triloba).  

The latter has had a rough life for a young tree.  It stands, right now, only about 3 feet tall, having been burnt early on in a fire and then, the next year, chewed down to a nubbin by marauding deer.  Still, it survived, and every year it puts out a few of those large, Cretaceous-era leaves to remind me that older and larger creatures once walked this earth.  And this year, imagine my surprise to see it bloom!  I didn't know Pawpaws bloomed, although any idiot amateur gardener like myself should realize that if they bear large banana-like fruit, they must bloom at some point.

PawPaw blossom

The bloom appearance, if you've never seen one, is quite unique, and I now understand the "triloba" species name, because the three-lobed calices of these flowers are quite distinctive.  These small muddy-purple flowers are thick-petaled, about the size of a dime, and would go unnoticed if you didn't look closely.  They appear, nestled next to the branch points, before the leaves have opened in the spring. Their flower faces are directed downwards and you have to practically lay on the ground to appreciate their structure (well, on a three-foot tall tree, anyway).  Look closely from a ground perspective, however, and you'll be amazed at the rich deep color of the petals and sepals, which surround a stiff wax-like receptacle and stamens.  I would recommend that you sample the fragrance of the flowers at your own risk, however, since the flowers have a musky odor that I will charitably describe here only as "yeasty."


In my ignorance about this tree, I had no intentions related to a higher environmental consciousness than hoping someday to taste its edible fruits, but in reading about the Pawpaw, I have since learned that it is the sole source of food for larvae of the Zebra Swallowtail (Eurytides marcellus).  I've never seen one of these gorgeous butterflies, but as my Pawpaw grows, I'll be sure to leave any such larvae alone and to watch for the appearance of any errant migrants that make it this far west.  "If you build it, they will come" was the line from the movie Field of Dreams.  Well, maybe, just maybe, "if I grow it, they will come" works the same way for a gardener.

Clematis Interruptus



'Guernsey Cream'

If you happen to be waiting for the roses to come back onto my blog, you should indeed have faith for their return, but at present, the cooler weather has halted most of my roses in bud stage.  'Marie Bugnet' is my sole rose with most of her beauty now exposed to the world.  Poor 'Harison's Yellow' shows some bright yellow flowers, but it is still spotty and underwhelming at present.  Almost every other established bush was aroused by the warm March weather and has opened one or two buds as teasers, but the climax of the season now seems to be a little bit farther into the future than I recently anticipated.  Wait a minute? Beauty exposed? Arousal?  Climax?  Could it be that I'm a little too excited about this upcoming rose season?

In the meantime, just so that all my readers know that I occasionally grow something besides roses, allow me to present the early-blooming clematis 'Guernsey Cream', which currently brightens the path near my front door.  'Guernsey Cream' is a single clematis, with creamy white 5-inch wide blossoms and anthers, and oh, what a show it is putting on right now!  Mine is a young plant, only in it's 2nd full season and never yet pruned, although 'Guernsey Cream' belongs to pruning group 2 and should be pruned lightly only after flowering anyway.  I planted 'Guernsey Cream'  near bright scarlet clematis 'Rebecca', and although both are on separate trellises now, I hope to have them intermingle someday into a stunning display, flush with red and white early in the season and again late in August.

Clematis montana rubens 04/08/12

Clematis (Clematuses? Clemati?) are a smidgen difficult for me to grow well in Kansas (no surprise there), because of the hot summer sun and the ripping winds.  'Guernsey Cream' and 'Rebecca' are up against a wall near a house corner in my front bed, protected from two directions from wind and from the western hot afternoon sun.  I also grow, for those who are interested, blue 'Romona' and white 'Alabast'  against other house walls with north and east exposures respectively, Clematis montana rubens (left) in a more exposed position but against a low stone wall, and 'Jackmanii', a second 'Romona', and Clematis paniculata out in the open unshaded spaces of my garden.  Well those, and a couple of Clematis integrifolia in my front beds who constantly threaten to seed themselves to the western horizon.  The latter seem almost a little too well adapted to Kansas, and I don't recommend their drooping faces for most gardens.  Please note, however, that assessment hasn't stopped me from potting up and spreading their bounty to other unsuspecting local gardeners (insert evil Professor grin here).  Kansas misery loves company.