Ode to Chiggers

There's a red spot on my tushy, itching like the very devil,
There's another on my hiney, now I'm scratching with my shovel.
Itch and torment on and on, both spots keep on getting bigger,
Weeping, mashing, slapping, slashing, this must be a goldarned chigger.

Experts say they bite and leave, but I'd like a sec to quibble,
All this fuss and pain and scratching can't just be from chigger dribble.
I believe that chigger's head, must be buried deep inside me,
Biting down and clawing round, worse than any doggone dog flea.

Maybe chiggers were the Fire, used to banish Eve from Eden,
Chased us out from Paradise, chiggers on our nether regions.
Followed Moses cross the Red Sea, chiggers biting on our tail,
Puritans' itching, wasn't witching, chiggers all down Historys' trail.

Soap and water does no good, Calamine just dries my skin,
Alcohol is no solution, just won't work on where they've been.
I believe in clear nail polish, thick and shiny on the bump,
Some say it don't make no difference, but it soothes my itching lump.

Pray for frost and spray your poisons, that will knock them chiggers out,
There's no one good way to get them, burn or spray or freeze the louts.
High in Heaven, up on clouds, please God make a place for diggers,
Give us respite from our itching, don't let in those damned old chiggers.



I don't know about where you live, but the chiggers have gotten bad around here this summer.  And yes, I know that the "experts" claim that nail polish won't work, but I, for one, swear by it as a chigger remedy.  If it is only just a placebo, then I'm happy to embrace it, nonetheless.   And how, you might ask, is the blue thistle photo at left related to chiggers?  Well, it's not.  It was just a pretty picture to draw you in.  Happy scratching, friends!


  

Lichen Enlightment

I'd like to take this moment to confess my doting admiration for one of the simplest symbionts of all that exist on this lovely planet, the lowly but enduring lichens.  Here on the dry Kansas prairie, I had almost forgotten the existence of these composite organisms until I happened on this healthy lichen plantation growing on the north side of the trunk of my young pecan tree.  I do see lichens everyday in Kansas, manifested as ugly black scale on the limestone of the K-State campus buildings, but there is hardly anything to admire about dirty-looking limestone, so please excuse me if I've almost forgotten their more attractive cousins.

Lichens are partnerships of a fungus (the mycobiont) and an algae or cyanobacterium (the photobiont), that grow in some of the most inhospitable environments on Earth; bare rock, arctic tundra, and hot deserts.  They're so tough that they can survive the vacuum and cosmic radiation of space and they will grow in a Martian simulator, suggesting that they will be of use someday as Mankind terraforms Mars.  The fungus surrounds and sometimes penetrates the algal cells, protecting them from dry environments, while the algae are photosynthetic and provide energy and food to the partner.  Cyanobacteria in the cyanolichens serve to fix nitrogen, sharing this important building block with their mutual fungus partner. 

I should also confess that ProfessorRoush was (and is) one of those weird kids who was often found reading a random volume of a paper and ink concoction formerly known as an encyclopedia.  My parents once owned an entire set of a 1964 edition, purchased by my mother from one of the sweet, clean, predatory college students who used to travel the country each summer taking money off of  doting mothers of budding science and space travel nerds.  Today, I frequently satisfy that urge to explore new worlds with a Wikipedia search, clicking from subject to subject in a seemingly endless journey.  Lichens are certainly a fertile search muse for some fascinating hours of Wiki-diving.  For example, I learned that Swiss scientist Simon Schwendener was the first to discover the symbiotic nature of lichens (in the year 1867).  I also found out that lichens reproduce by the dispersal of diaspores (which contain both algal and fungal cells), and that there are three types of diaspores;  soredia, isidia, and what are essentially just dry lichen fragments that blow around in the wind.  If by chance you are not yet fascinated by these organisms, it might thrill you to know that there are experts in Lichenometry, experts who can determine the age of exposed surfaces based on the size of lichen thalli and who regularly measure glacial retreat in global warming studies.  Wouldn't we all love to have that job so that we could easily pick up girls at a cocktail party?  One more factoid for the medical marijuana crowd;  certain species of lichens contain olivetol, a substance also found in the cannabis plant where it is a precursor for the production of THC.  Lichen brownies, anyone?

I'll stop here with the satisfaction that I know more today than I did yesterday.  Even though it's possible that I could have continued my existence without ever learning more about lichens, it is probable that we owe lichens our very lives for their actions of converting rock to soil, thus allowing plant life to flourish on Earth, and ultimately enriching the lives of gardeners.  Oh, and by the way, lichens don't hurt your trees.

Try to say "Swiss scientist Simon Schwendener searched soredia in the Seven Seas" three times fast.

Trojans and Carrots

ProfessorRoush was lucky enough last week to happen across a paperback copy of How Carrots Won The Trojan War, by Rebecca Rupp, and my TV viewing has suffered ever since.  It grabbed me from the start, as I was just browsing in the bookstore, and it is the first nonfiction garden-related book all summer that has monopolized my free time.

This 2011 nonfiction work is a well-researched and referenced series of chapters about 20 common vegetables (although some are technically fruits).  The history of each garden plant is revealed, from the first human use of the native species through its introduction into Western Culture, and along the way there are fascinating stories about how each plant was viewed in different eras and how it may (or may not) have influenced history.  As an example, she relates that the introduction of beans as a protein-rich food source coincides with population growth at the end of the Dark Age and later she ties the early success of the Burpee Seed Company to an enormous cabbage variety.

Most importantly, this is not a dry scholarly tome, but a very readable and interesting presentation of history related to food production.  Gardeners will like it, history buffs will be fascinated, and foodies will compare ancient cooking techniques to modern fare.  Of course, the reader's attention is frequently captured and held because the early uses of most of these plants are related to their aphrodisiac (asparagus or celery) or pharmaceutical value (beans and beets).  It's a sure-fire marketing technique;  tie anything to sex or drugs, and someone, somewhere is sure to get interested in a hurry.  Trojans and carrots, by the way, are not related by some pre-Modern sex-education demonstration (think about it), but because Agamemnon's warriors supposedly ate purple carrots to "bind up their bowels" while they were concealed in the Trojan Horse awaiting entry into Troy.  That's yet another marketing technique;  human toilet habits are almost as fascinating to some, particularly the aged, as sex and drugs are to the young.

 I haven't read other works by Ms. Rupp.  I found that she is primarily a childrens and nonfiction writer, but a couple of her earlier works (Red Oaks and Black Birches, published in 1990 and Blue Corn and Square Tomatoes, published in 1987) also sound quite intriguing to this old gardener.  I'm going to have to check the local library for a copy of each.

Gee Whiz, That's Incredible!

'Incredible'

Help, ProfessorRoush has a problem!  No, not that problem. No, not that problem either.  My current problem centers around that fact that I have two new Griffith Buck roses that I can't tell apart for love or money.  'Gee Whiz'!  That's 'Incredible', you say?   Yes, those are the two roses,  'Gee Whiz' and 'Incredible'.  I know perfectly well what they were labeled when I received them from Heirloom Roses and I've got them accurately mapped out.   I just can't believe that these two roses are so similar.

'Incredible'

'Incredible' is pictured above and to the left.  Although it is registered simply as 'Incredible',  it is also known as 'That's Incredible'.  She is a yellow blend shrub rose bred by Dr. Buck in 1984. The helpmefind.com listing for 'Incredible' lists her as a yellow and pink blend, also stippled, with occasional repeat. 'Incredible' is an offspring of 'Gingersnap' and 'Sevilliana'. The Iowa State Buck Rose Website states that 'Incredible' should be double, 25-30 petals, with 4-4.5 inch blooms of barium yellow streaked with vermilion. The blooms are born in grandiflora-type clusters on a 3-4.5 foot plant.

'Gee Whiz'

'Gee Whiz', pictured to the right and below, is also a yellow blend shrub rose bred by Dr. Buck in 1984. He is officially described as having stippled orange and yellow petals, with a double (17-25 petal) bloom form and occasional repeat.  Also an offspring of 'Gingersnap' and 'Sevilliana', at maturity (my bush is only a few months old), he should be 2.5-3 feet tall, slightly shorter than his sister. The Iowa State Buck Rose website listing for this rose states that the blooms are also borne in clusters but are slightly smaller than 'Incredible', at 3-4 inches diameter.

'Gee Whiz'

Confused yet?  I assure you that I am and I've got them growing side by side in my garden.  Both bushes are identical so far in growth and bloom rate, both have dark green leaves that start out with copper tones, and they are equally blackspot resistant.   The blooms of both roses open quickly and fade a bit lighter, but so far, I think 'Gee Whiz' retains slightly more orange tones than 'Incredible'.  I'd hate to hang my hat on that, though.  So, apart from counting petals or waiting to see if the ultimate size of the bushes are different, I guess I'm going to have to trust Heirloom Roses that they sent me two different roses.  And also trust that Dr. Buck, in the later years of his career, wasn't playing a joke that would live on long after him.  I wish there was a record available, straight from the professor's mouth as it were, that tells us why he released two such similar roses in the same year.  Perhaps, like me, Griffith Buck just loved stippled and striped roses and couldn't bear to shovel prune one of these beautiful creations into oblivion.